To Hel With It All
by bella.rochelle
Summary: She was the daughter of the God of Mischief, or at least, she played at it. And that would be her salvation. Ivar the Boneless is going to Hel. AU.
1. Kattegat

"We will raid in England again this summer," Björn Ironside announced to the great hall. A cry of celebration arose from the crowd of village members amassed within. "There are plenty of cities left untouched under our good friend King Egbert's rule, and we have a score to settle," he finished ominously. By now, everyone had heard of the slaughter of the settlement on English soil. The roar was reduced to a ringing din of hushed whispers and indignant murmurings.

"Prepare yourselves. We leave in three weeks' time," he concluded. One final shout of agreement from his people and they quickly made their way out of the hall. Those that remained behind held conversations of their own in anticipation of the adventures to come.

"England. Again? There must be a lot of ground we haven't covered yet," Sigurd offered to his brothers Hvitserk, Ivar, and Ubbe. They didn't know I was in the next room over, in Queen Aslaug's chambers, weaving her next blanket for the frigid winter on the standing rack. I hummed a tune of the saga of their father's, King Ragnar Lothbrok's, exploits in Francia as a way to keep my mind occupied. Despite the fascinating topic they discussed, it would not be my place to insert myself.

"Of course there's a lot of ground to be covered. We've only tried one of the many kingdoms. There's Northumbria, Mercia, Dubhlinn. When we think we've reached the end, there's always more. Like weeds, these Christians!" Ivar spat in contempt.

"How many times does that make it now that we've gone across the sea? Three?" Ubbe noted.

"What does that matter? We will go again and again until we've robbed them of their _holy_ land," Ivar replied hotly.

"I only say this because Njord has favored us so over our last however many journeys. How many more times can we expect to make the crossing without serious issues? The gods are always changing their minds when it comes to how they feel about us. Look at what they did to father…" Ubbe trailed off.

"You want to garner their favor so badly, you should go to Uppsala to make proper sacrifice. We'll be here when you get back with all of our treasures from the English. I'll save you a candlestick," Ivar joked with a wry smirk. I knew it wasn't my place to get involved in their conversation, but I couldn't hold back any longer. I had been gone for so long, and my need to interact with them became too much to bear.

"I've noticed with the winds that if they blow toward the setting sun, they always bring a great storm. But when the blow away from the setting sun, the skies are clear for days. Does that have any bearing upon your travels?" I asked Ubbe from behind the curtain separating the rooms.

"Is that you, Hel? Come here! I can't see your face. You've been gone too long," he ignored my question. I pulled the leather aside and let it fall behind me. I smoothed my plain blue dress in mock discomfort. I was disarming them before the conversation even began, a tactic I had learned some years ago. When I looked back up, the boys had various forms of a charmed smile on their faces. All except _him._ Ivar. He never had a pleasant gesture to spare me, or anyone for that matter. I was used to it by now.

"Hello, boys. How have the fearless Ragnarsons been? I feel like we haven't spoken in a lifetime! Tell me about this English conundrum," I opened warmly. Even though I kept these young men at a distance, they were still like brothers to me. We grew up together, played together. Aslaug practically raised me while my father was away raiding with Ragnar. Really, Siggy raised me. She, with the help of Floki, taught me the ways of politics and gods.

I settled myself amongst them on the wooden benches.

"You see us as we normally are: arguing away our youth. Come, tell us of your time with Earl Kalf. What did you learn?" Ubbe jovially offered. I had only just recently returned from the distant earldom; not many people knew I was back yet or what had transpired there for that matter. Now seemed as good a time as any to share my experiences from the past year or so away from Kattegat.

"Well, I watched the shieldmaiden Lagertha stab him to death to reclaim her earldom, so there's that," I spoke dryly, only a small hint of amusement in my eye. Death was part of my people and our culture—who was I to be afraid of it? In reality, watching Earl Kalf die was more of a reaffirmation of Lagertha's strength in my eyes. She was a fearsome woman and I could do naught but admire her for it.

Ivar, as was his overbearing nature, took the opportunity to pounce, "And tell us, Hel, Daughter of Mischief, were you _afraid_?" He always referred to the significance of my moniker as if it were something to be ashamed of.

"You know as well as I, Ivar the Witless, that if Loki were truly my father, I wouldn't deign to waste my time with mere mortals like you, no offense, boys," I made sure to cast spirited glances at the other men who shared my good humor. "As for Earl Kalf's death… It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen…" I trailed off, recalling the faint kiss they shared in his dying breath. I wasn't supposed to see it, just like I wasn't supposed to see a lot of things, but that never stopped me. I looked back up to my companions. I had thought Ivar would defend himself vehemently against being called witless, especially considering how incredibly smart he actually was, but instead he simply looked at me. He looked at me differently than he ever had before in our shared seventeen years of life. It was an appraising stare as if he had only just realized I existed for the first time. Shame. I've been here all along. And not sitting idle, that's for sure. I was certainly much more lethal than he gave me credit for, or even knew of. He would never know, unless I chose to show him, and that was just about the most impossible thing that would ever come to pass. He and I didn't share things.

The rest of the brothers apparently found my description confusing. Oh well, it wasn't their death to share. I would keep the details for myself.

"Oh, boys! Let us talk of more exciting things. Tell me of your last raid. I must hear everything!" I allowed them to talk at length of their recent trip to the land of Egbert. This is how I liked to see my friends, chattering away about the things that mattered most to them. Their eyes lit up, they smiled genuinely, and they seemed to drop the burden of being the missing King's sons.

We all talked and yelled and laughed and mended our distant friendship. Everyone, that is, except Ivar. He uttered not a single word and only moved to take drinks from his cup from time to time.

He eyes remained upon me—unmoving, unblinking, transfixed.

* * *

The party held that night in the great hall was not in my honor, but I liked to pretend that it was. It was certainly a perfect reason to over imbibe on the ale, and what good ale it was. My people and my home were the same as they had always been. It was good to be here.

Reminiscing with my friends had been a wonderful welcome back to Kattegat minus Ivar's grilling scrutiny. Indeed, such was his way, and it had proved that he had not changed a bit in my time away. I could never fault him for it. He was always thinking, that boy. He seemed to be in different spirits this night, however, as he freely conversed and joked with the rest of the warriors. He never had an issue gaining their respect for what he lacked in his ability to walk, he made up for in the strength of his upper body. He could shoot the strongest of bows with little thought, bows that only the mightiest of the village men could sling, pull, and release with difficulty. But enough of him. He was not my focus that night. Or any night. I needed to learn to collect my thoughts. Siggy taught me better than this.

By my second cup of ale, I felt a warmth rush through my body from my cheeks downward, and there was a distinct burning in my belly. Gods, I was drunk already? That was quick. It made sense considering I hadn't touched any spirits the entire length of my stay with Earl Kalf and Lagertha. I had needed to keep my head straight around strangers. Here I felt I was entitled to at least one night of merriment.

' _It's that sort of thinking that will get you killed,'_ I felt more than heard a voice say. It sounded almost like Siggy, only weaker. Less tangible. Is that what a conscience sounded like?

At that point, I didn't frankly care. I marched myself over to the barrel to refill my cup with the source of my internal conflict. If I couldn't even agree with my inner self, then I would simply have to drown her out.

'To Hel with me!' I thought indignantly and tipped my full mug back. I refused to breathe until the contents were completely gone. My lungs burned and my head ached, but I couldn't stop. A tiny bit at the bottom of the mug sat taunting me. With one final, painful gulp, I finished the wretched drink, lifted my head, and used my sleeve to wipe away a few stray drops from my mouth.

It was then that I realized the hall and all its inhabitants were focused on me. It appeared the 'Hel' comment wasn't as self-contained as originally anticipated. And judging from the fact that every single person was focused on my actions, it had been none too quiet as well. My eyes grew wide as I realized the hilarity of the situation I was in. Oh, ale, you sweet, godly drink. Laughter erupted from my throat, loud and haughty.

" _Yea!_ " the hall let out a loud yell of approval. This only served to make me laugh even harder, and I was joined by a few of my closer neighbors. They understood that this was what we did. We were good people who drank and shared a holy, ancient camaraderie regardless of station or sex. Gods, how I had missed them.

The man who stood closest to me turned out to be Hvitserk—he grabbed me around the around the shoulders and pulled me into the group of men he sat at the table with. It was unusual to find him here. I could see Björn, Ubbe, Sigurd, and Ivar centered around the middle table nearest the roaring fire as was their place being the sons of the absent King. I adopted as serious a stance as I could manage with my hands on my hips and my head held aloft, although I must say, it did bob a little.

"What are you doing here, Hvite? Why have you abandoned your brothers in their hour of need? Drinking is no game, man!" He seemed slightly surprised until he realized I was giving him a go of it.

"No game, indeed! How could I be expected to remain at the side of such a dreary lot? You seemed like much more fun. Speaking of which, that was quite a show you put on back there," he jested.

"Even the daughter of Loki has a reputation to uphold, I am merely aiding in her endeavors. My namesake should be proud of my abilities!" I referred to the deity as if we were old friends. Hvitserk gave a bark of a laugh.

My name had always been a source of tension, as all Northmen know that one's name is their legacy. Hel was the daughter of the God of Mischief and a giantess named Angrboða. She took the souls of the dead and kept them in her domain known also as Hel. Our name means "hidden" because although she is known as a beauty, she has the secrets of the dead crawling underneath her skin, which would surely make for an ugly portrait. Many of the village children avoided me as a growing girl because they believed I would bring death upon them. Not the Ragnarsons.

"Here, sister," he handed me a full flagon, "I will not hold you back. Drink up!" He did not have to urge me more than once. I took three hearty chugs before I handed it back to him. Just as his fingers closed around the neck of the vessel, I pulled it back one more time for a sneaky fourth. He chuckled at my antics.

"I'm done this time. I promise," I assured him. He removed the flagon from my hands and began to down it himself. By now, my vision had become a bit jolted and it was becoming harder for me to keep up with regular conversation. I needed some fresh air.

"Excuse me, Sir. Your entertainment needs a bit of a break," I announced to Hvitserk and his circle. Some acknowledged with a series of grunts while others raised their cups to me.

I knew I had to take my time exiting the building in order to avoid making a further spectacle of myself, so I picked my way through the crowd as carefully as possible. It was no small feat. I almost fell at least a dozen times only to be caught by some unsuspecting warrior or my own lackadaisical balance. I passed through the archway of the hall onto the front landing where I was greeted by the dark night full of shining stars. I couldn't look down as I descended the steps for I was too intent upon the glimmering lights of the pitch black sky.

I should have—I put my full weight down on solid ground where I thought there should be one more step and threw myself completely off balance. I spun around and clawed at the air as the ground rushed up to meet my face in a most painful greeting. What the—? I lay there sprawled on all fours with my bum in the air and my face in the dirt.

A howl of laughter rose up from within me before I could fully realize what had just happened. I couldn't make sense of it, and when I did, it only further reduced me into a struggling pile of giggles. What an ass I was! I couldn't walk two steps without hurting myself. I was definitely never drinking again. It wasn't safe—for me or anyone else.

Once I had composed myself to distinguish up from down, I rolled over onto my back to continue stargazing from my much safer position (as close to the ground as I could get). It was truly beautiful. Mostly because I was drunk and the stars looked like this every night, but it was beautiful just the same.

Somewhere in my amazed stupor, I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye originating near the great hall. This movement was different. It wasn't the topsy turvy movement that one sees when drunk. It was solid. Something was actually moving toward me. I sat up entirely too fast to help me make sense of the figure making its way at me. If anything, that made it much worse. The world was practically jumping around me now and this black mass was joining in the dance. I put my hands firmly on the ground behind me to keep myself upright.

My irrational mind pictured a rogue bear picking me up in its harsh, uncaring jaws and dragging me away to be devoured. But it couldn't be a bear, it was too low to the ground, and it looked like it was slithering. A snake? At this time of night? Oh, Gods, why a snake?

I brought my hands to my face in defense of whatever it was that was going to kill me, which immediately took away any semblance of balance I had just gained. I fell back down again as I pitifully yelled,

"No, snake!"

I lay still for a breath.

"You thought I was a snake?" a voice contemptuously asked. A person!

"Who is that?" I questioned, slightly relieved.

"Who do you think it is? And really, a snake?" the voice, clearly male, was becoming more and more agitated. That was easy to guess: Ivar. Everything came together all at once and I was left laughing yet again. I was out of control.

"I'm so—sorry—I just—I panicked," I gasped between bouts. What a useless brain was mine to think a human being could be a snake. Granted, he did slither...

"You obviously had more ale than you should have. You've lost your mind," he chided while turning to rejoin the festivities. He was no longer interested in wasting his time with someone so drunk.

"Why are you so _dour_?" I asked out of pure frustration. Such was his treatment of me every time we spoke. If he only knew what I could do, what I had spent years learning how to do, he would hold me as an equal in most respects. But no, he sat there in his ignorance and chose to ridicule me instead.

"Dour?" he rotated back to me as he repeated my term.

"Yes, dour. Grim. Sour. Hard-faced. You are familiar with the term now?" I mocked him.

"I _know_ what it means. How could I not? You think I am stupid, and yet, look at how you act," he referred to my earlier performance in the hall.

Siggy had taught me that any form of attention was better than no attention when it came to manipulating men, as their tempers were quick and easy to influence. Ivar's attention was focused entirely upon me. I had him where I wanted him even if he wasn't in the best of moods. I had only to change his understanding of me from that of an annoyance to a useful ally. It would take time, but it had to be done.

Ivar was going to achieve great things. Anyone could see that. Compared to his brothers, he was cunning, resourceful, and ruthless. His only limits were those he could imagine for himself. I wanted to be there for it all and share in the exploits of his triumphs. It was written in the stars before we were born. I did not need the spotlight with him; I simply needed him to include me in his plans for the future. I could help him—help our people—if only he gave me the opportunity to demonstrate my skills. I changed my tactic,

"You are right. That was foolish of me," I could immediately see the effect my words had on his countenance. His eyes widened in surprise. Never in a million years would I ever have anything polite to say to Ivar the Boneless. Apparently, we had reached the end of our one million years at this moment, "I do not think you are stupid. You are clearly the most intelligent of all of your brothers—all your relations for that matter. I make fun of you so that hopefully you remember that you _are_ one of us lowly creatures," I paused, adding a coquettish little laugh to the end of my statement. I would win him over in no time if he were like every other man that I had spent years practicing on. He looked frozen in place, not out of fear, but out of shock. I used this as an opportunity to move closer to him as I continued,

"Ivar, surely you can forgive me for what I have done to you all these years?" At this point, my face was in front of his separated by only a few inches. I was amazed at the self-control I possessed in my still slightly drunken state. I looked up into his eyes to await his reaction. All at once, he seemed to remember himself. His eyes returned to their usual condescending look and his face became hard. Ivar was not like most men. I knew this. He backed away at least a foot before he responded.

"You can stop your acting now, you are not very good at it." Damn that wit of his. Well, I had two choices at this point: play at being dumb or simply be honest.

"What gave me away?" I asked sardonically with the smallest of smirks. His face broke out into a sour smile tinged with victory.

"You were acting like you liked me."

"Yes…I should've known you'd see right through that…" He narrowed his eyes in discernment though the smile stayed in place. He seemed fascinated by the fact that I had just tried to fool him. He had never seen me act dishonestly before. That is what my life had become, and he had just gotten a mere taste of it. Though I wanted to be of service to him, I couldn't give away the end game. The best part of telling someone what to do is when they believe it is their idea in the first place. I would have to come up with a new plan altogether, something to match this man's intellect and make him see what I wanted him to.

"Why do you act like this?" he demanded. Unfortunately for him, I wasn't going to tell him anytime soon.

"If you don't mind, EE-var, there are some things I wish to keep to myself," I taunted him using a given name of old. The effect was immediate as his entire countenance switched from one of intense curiosity to barely-concealed disgust.

"Well, I don't _care_ what you prefer," his voice lilted as he cocked his head in a show of dominance, "I will figure it out. You know that I will."

"You will not figure out anything I don't intend for you to, so do not waste your time." His interest only piqued at my statement.

Through a determined smile he uttered,

"You always were an insolent little girl."

"Shut your mouth. I'm just as old as you. If you're going to insult me, make it true," I paused to regain my wits, "Now, as much as I enjoy your company, I must be going. I need to sober up, and I cannot do that around you. You only help to muddle my head even more. Goodnight, Ivar." I rolled onto my stomach to push myself up into a squatting position and then stood slowly to my feet. As I walked away from him, I heard him speak in a caressing tone,

"I will figure it out. You will see."


	2. England

The sea foam sprayed above the hull, drenching the poor souls who were seated in the front few benches. Rowing was not necessary; the wind had picked up enough to carry us onward at great speed. Despite it being late springtime, the air was frigid. The wind stung my cheeks as we plowed through the waves ever faster toward England. It was as if the vessels that bore us forward felt the increasing anticipation among the men and spurred on to match their intensity. I drew my fur around my shoulders a bit more and sunk my chin into the cradle it made on my chest in an effort to force away the cold.

Why had the Gods seen fit to plunge me headlong into this journey? Simple: Ivar was a merciless puzzle-solver. He claimed my presence was required on our venture across the sea for his own reasons, and thus, I would be joining the Ragnarsons on their raids in England. Unfortunately for me, my people saw budding relationships as requisite reason to join in on these journeys, and so I was to work with the women and children in the encampment gathering food, hunting game, and mending leather. They believed my presence in England foretold of a marriage between Ivar and me, but they couldn't have been more wrong. He merely did not want to let me out of his sight until he had me figured out. He was wasting both of our time. I would just bide by myself until we returned to Kattegat.

Truth be told, this "holiday" as I had decided to call it would not be entirely in vain. I would take this opportunity to study the local foliage to discern their different properties and uses. It was always useful to gain knowledge of such things if one wanted to truly master the world of plants. When we reached land, I would immediately sneak away to search out new poisons, salves, and elixirs. I lived for this.

I was not entering into this venture entirely without protection though. I had spent my last three weeks in Kattegat before departure securing the largest arsenal of ingredients I had collected yet. I had brought a purse of a few marisko rootstocks for sedatives when the men shook with the pain from their wounds. They were difficult to find, but three weeks was plenty of time to gather what was needed. Another satchel held an ample supply of the overly-abundant mjødurt, a small queenly plant of tiny white flowers clustered together. The whole of these plants was useful in some form or another, but the root was my main prize in this specific instance. When chewed, it could cure headaches, small pains, and prevent wound sickness from setting in. It helped that it also gave off a pleasant aroma reminiscent of ale to ease the men's frazzled nerves and transport them home in their minds. Floki had taught me that plants could only solve so many ailments, but a peaceful mind could cure anything. Lastly, my prized possession was a small vial of powdered tysbast. Although the flowers had already bloomed in plenty, it was still too early in the springtime for the leaves to appear. The entire plant was known to possess poison in varying deadly doses. I had settled for what I could find and cut down at least ten stalks for grinding. Lucky for me, a small pinch of this powder would kill a grown man by causing his throat to close around his last breath. I was no stranger to tysbast. She was a true weapon of Hel.

When I had brought my assortment before Floki for his approval, he commented proudly,

"Out to save _and_ out to kill, ay, Hel? I have taught you well."

"The Gods will see your instruction put to good use on this journey, I can feel it," I responded warmly. It was good to know that he was coming along as well. I would have felt lost without him. I held him in the same regard as one would a father or fond uncle after my own had died on a raid with King Ragnar some years ago.

"I ask you now before the sacred roots of this earth, Hel. Will the mjødurt be taken raw or in hot broth?" Floki quizzed. Ha! He thought he could trick me.

"Both! But it loses some of its potency when in hot broth," I answered triumphantly. He mussed my hair in a sign of affection, and my hands quickly shot up to fix my braids before he could ruin them further.

"Come, there is more I must teach you before I release you on the world," Floki led me to a circle of trees behind his hut on the water's bank. He reached inside the hollow of an old, mossy tree to produce a sleek bow and five arrows. They were clearly used but seemed tried and true.

"Oh, Floki! You know I do not fight like our people," I immediately declined.

"I know, but this is not a regular fight. These Christians—while small of mind," he gave a high-pitched giggle at that, "fight from a distance. When we get too close, they become weak. And what do weak men do when they are afraid?" he quizzed again.

"They become foolish," I replied.

"Not only foolish, but rabid. You must learn to keep them away. And we will do that with these," he referred to the bow and arrows in his hands. There was logic in his words. As much as I despised the hand-to-hand fighting of my people, I would have to become something slightly more than the shadow warrior I was.

I gave a great sigh and released in a huff,

" _Fine_." Floki let out a scream of laughter. He set the arrows down on a stump beside him to free up his hands for the bow.

"Now, this is the proper way to hold the bow. It takes little effort to achieve the results you want, and so that is why it is perfect for someone of your stature."

Floki spent the rest of the afternoon teaching me the principles of shooting arrows with a bow, and by the end of the session, I could release an arrow at full speed in the general direction of my intended target.

"Look! Floki! I hit a tree!" I shouted excitedly while slapping his arm to get his full attention.

"I would say you more grazed it," he tried to deflate me.

"He would have been dead before he hit the ground, the scum!" I continued to yell. There was no deflating anything; I had hit the damn tree!

His eyes grew smaller as a bright, beaming smile overtook his face,

"I am proud of you."

* * *

My eyes looked back up to the never-ending sea before us. It was so _vast_. How could Ragnar have made the crossing so many years ago in good faith that there was something on the other side? He either had true faith in the Gods to give him good fortune or was severely addled in the brain. The longer our journey stretched, the more I leaned toward the latter explanation.

I reached into the lining of the fur I wore and removed from a hidden pocket a small onyx stone blessed in the name of Hel. Its singular black tone was somewhat soothing in the unknown that spanned ahead. Floki had given it to me right before we set sail saying it would help control my erratic nature and nervous temper. I doubted it. I was seventeen years old, and I had still not figured out how to do that. But I trusted in the stone just the same. The guardian of Helheim would keep me safe—she knew what I was meant to do in my lifetime.

"What will we do when we reach land?" I asked aloud. I had never been part of the raids before, so I was unsure of my role in them. Sigurd was the first to speak up,

"Once we decide upon a suitable place to anchor the boats, we will set up a camp somewhere nearby. Then the warriors will go forward to raid."

"So I will remain in the camp?" I confirmed. That would be the perfect situation to allow me to go out and explore the plant life surrounding our landing site.

"No," Ivar quickly jumped in to dispel any hope of our separation, "You will come forward with us." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"What purpose would that serve? You know I am not a shieldmaiden," I reminded him. I knew he did not need reminding, a boy as smart as him. He had to have another reason for wanting to bring me on the most dangerous part of the raid, but what?

He motioned with two fingers for me to come closer to where he sat, which was across the width of the ship. Once I had reached him, he patted the seat next to him while he leaned back against the furs behind him. I sat down beside him wondering what could possibly be his reasoning for so ill advised a decision. He tipped his head closer to my ear and whispered,

"Perhaps we will see your hidden talents on this raid, hmm?"

Gods, he was practically purring. He wanted to figure out my abilities so badly he was willing to put me in danger to figure it out. I had to admire his determination.

"You are incredibly strong-minded, Ivar, I will give you that. But like I said before, you will not figure out anything I don't intend for you to," he darkened at the prospect of not finishing this game soon, "Put me in harm's way, fine. But it'll only aid me in the end." He raised his eyebrows in interest. Damn, I had spoken too freely. I had hinted at my endgame. I knew I could achieve any one of my aims if I was delivered into the hands of the enemy. The enemy was a people, and I knew how to play people. On the other hand, the battlefield was a place where smarts were stripped away for the most part leaving you with only your basest of faculties. Unless I was able to hide, I would die. He was unfazed by my declaration,

"Good. Then let us see how this raid 'aids' you, as you said." So there was no escaping this. To Hel with his insatiable mind! Well, I knew where I would be once we had landed: on the beach, practicing my marksmanship.

* * *

I held true to my internal promise. We landed a few days later on the sandy shores of a cloudy bank with hardly any wind. Even with the cover of the clouds, I still had to squint my eyes because of the bright sunlight shining through. As soon as I had divested myself of the large fur I wore most of the crossing, I made my way into the nearby tree line with the bow and arrows Floki had given to me, intent upon bettering my skills before battle. I found a ring of trees similar to that in which Floki taught me and selected a tree to bear the brunt of my endeavors. After firing my first set of five arrows, I hadn't hit it even remotely. That was not a good sign. I ran a decent distance to collect my arrows and bring them back to the original circle of trees to start all over again. I raised the bow once more, slipped an arrow into the cradle, and pulled it back with a bit of struggle.

"You're never going to hit anything if you keep releasing it like that," a snide voice came from behind me to the right. I yelped shrilly in surprise. Upon turning, I saw that it was the source of my torment in the first place—Ivar. He was seated upon a tall stump within the circle and looked as if he had been there for more than a few moments.

"Gods, Ivar! Why must you sneak up on me like that?" He gave no indication that he heard my complaint and instead modeled the correct posture.

"Look at me. Bring your elbow down, you look like a stricken hen," he coached. I bit down on my tongue to prevent a sharp comment from escaping. He was helping me after all,

"Keep your left arm straight and rest the arrow tip lightly on your thumb. Now, take a deep breath in, find your target, breathe out, and… Release." A sharp whoosh was heard almost immediately after his instruction followed by the satisfying _thud_ of the arrow sinking itself into the target.

"How in the Gods' name—Ivar! You genius! I did it! I don't know how I did it, but I did it!" I practically sang his and my praises. I ran up to the stump he sat on to give him a hug, but immediately halted myself. He was not a man of embraces. He gave me an odd, scathing look as he watched my fitful behavior. I quickly recovered and offered my arm out in a symbol of friendship. He scrutinized me even more heavily for several long moments. Finally, he reached his arm out to grasp mine and solidified our bond. I still hated the man, don't mistake me, but this was the first step in the right direction of forming an alliance that would benefit us both in the future. It was up to me to show him the potential we would have together. His gaze held my own aloft with its intensity, and I felt the favor of the Gods descend upon us. It was warmth, excitement, and the promise of more. He must have felt it too because his eyes widened in surprise. He immediately dropped my arm, effectively cutting off the sensation.

There were only some events in my life that shook me to the bone, and that was one of them. It appeared my estimation of our future in the world together was true beyond an inkling of a doubt. We would go _very_ far.

Ivar left shortly after our exchange by using the newly-fashioned crutches Floki had made for him to drag himself back to the camp. I remained behind, concerned that only exhaustive practice would keep me safe the following day. I shot arrow after arrow, collected them up, and shot them all again until I was convinced that I could hit my intended target with general accuracy. I may have just been able to sustain myself long enough to live.

I gathered the things I had brought with me, retraced my path through the wood line, and rejoined the villagers in our now fortified campsite. Large wooden spikes spread outward in a square around it with tents dotted throughout. Several fires burned and stew could be smelled cooking. Already the women had caught some small game to stock up on and were skinning it for use in the near future. We were certainly an efficient people, that was for sure. I wasn't terribly hungry, but I figured I would need my strength for the next day.

I received a bowl full of simmering rabbit stew and a piece of bread from one of the nearby circles and sat down to eat what I could. After a few bites, I felt my nerves get the better of me, and I could eat no more. I kept the bread in case my appetite changed in the morning, forced two more hearty bites of the stew for my own sake, and returned the bowl to the woman who had given it to me. I moved over to the Ragnarsons' tent. Space was a luxury not afforded on raid, and because I was considered Ivar's quasi-betrothed, I had the added pleasure of bedding down with him. I had come to terms with that undesirable fact over the course of our journey here.

I moved inside to take in the surroundings and saw where I was to sleep. A small cot lined with furs that was clearly intended for two small children or one incredibly large man. In our case, it would be two fully-grown adults. I sighed. Any peacemaking I had done in my head was now undone. This was… unsatisfactory. I was no prude. In fact, I enjoyed the attention men gave me. However, Ivar was not my lover, and I had no intention of giving him my body. Even if it would be fun, it would hurt my standing in his mind, and I had far more important things to accomplish with him instead of sex.

I walked over to the godforsaken piece of furniture and sent up a silent prayer to Freyja for comfort this night as well as protection on the battlefield the next day. As an afterthought, I prayed for purity, innocence, and protection from passion to Balder's spirit in Helheim. Anything would benefit me at that point.

The Absent King's sons were still in the makeshift hall planning for tomorrow how they would reap the most plunder. I used this as a chance to braid my hair away from my face for the attack, make myself ready for sleep, and laid upon the cot. I intended to fall asleep despite the early hour of the evening so that I would not have to be awake for Ivar's imminent arrival. Perhaps I could sleep through the whole ordeal. I sent up one more silent prayer to Niorun, goddess of sleep and dreams, for good measure.

* * *

I came to my senses sluggishly and without much measured control. I was rolling about on a semi-hard surface while something heavy kept me underneath it. I struggled for a few moments, but paused to take a steadying breath.

I was on the cot still with the furs draped over me. Someone—Ivar, had pulled himself up onto it and was readying himself for sleep. This meant pushing me over until my face was almost in the wall of the tent. It appeared Niorun had failed me and I was awake; she always was a shifty goddess anyway. I looked back at him,

"Could you have been any rougher getting into bed?" Irritation colored my tone even though I whispered. He was not bothered in the slightest.

"That was rough for you? That's not very promising."

" _What?_ " I spoke louder this time.

"Hush, now. You'll wake the rest of the tent," he muttered as he laid his head upon the pillow and closed his eyes. I rolled over completely, my movement causing the cot to almost bounce him onto the floor. He shot his right arm out to steady himself while simultaneously leveling a glare in my direction.

"No," I demanded, "What was _that_ supposed to mean?" He continued to scowl at me—eyes low and lip curled scornfully.

"Gods, you are so bothersome. It was a joke, Hel, you twit," he deepened his voice in threat before continuing, "Now, you have one more opportunity to turn over and go to sleep before I make you sleep on the floor." I narrowed my eyes at him. I would make him regret that. Right at that very moment. I lowered my voice until it was gravelly with feigned desire while maintaining a pleasurable lilt for a man's ear,

"But, Ivar…You brought me all the way here from Kattegat," I trailed my hand ever so slowly up the front of his leather tunic and punctuated my next words by walking my fingers up the last few inches, "It took four—long—weeks." I rolled onto my stomach, pushed myself up, and swung my left leg over his hips. I was in charge of the situation now. Ivar's eyes had widened to the size of eggs by the time I had made it to straddling him; this must've been the last thing he had _ever_ expected me to do after being told I would sleep on the floor. He would see soon enough that everything I was as a person was the last thing he ever expected. Oh well, until then…

He narrowed his eyes scrutinizing my face and awaited my next unpredictable move. Siggy had taught me well. Men were so easily led, and he was no different.

I closed my eyes excruciatingly slowly and tilted my head toward his as if I would kiss him. Once I was sure his eyes would close as well, I snapped my own back open. Surprisingly, his were still open—still watching me. Smart man. But that wasn't really new, now was it? I whispered while looking straight into his unforgiving stare,

"You and I will never lay together as wedded couples do. You will never hold me close to you knowing that I am yours. We will never share deep secrets and make undying vows. We are—and will always remain—nothing like lovers," I finished with relish. I was eager to see his upset reaction.

But it never came. Ivar's probing stare transformed into a gleeful smile, and he let out a short, breathy laugh. That was unexpected. His smile dimmed to a smirk as he lifted his head closer to mine and conceded,

"You fascinate me, Daughter of Mischief."

That was not good.

Unable to bear his presence any longer, I immediately flopped off of him with an exasperated huff, rolled onto my side, and stared at the wall of the tent until I heard his breathing slow. It was only then that I felt safe enough to allow myself to fall asleep. I vowed never to pray to Niorun again.

* * *

We moved as a large group across an open field to the next set of trees a good distance away. The Ragnarsons led the march with Ivar held aloft on a shield. He was no weakling, and anyone could see that in the way his eyes were set on the path before him. A spire could be seen shooting up from beyond the treetops. Björn had informed me that the taller the structure, the greater the chance of finding gold. And the "silly crisscross" as he had called it at the top meant even more treasure. I chose not to inform him that I indeed knew the meaning of the cross and its significance for the Christians. They believed their Jesus had died nailed to one himself. Æthelstan had been the one teach me this fact as well as at least a thousand more about his God and religion. Siggy thought it would be useful for my education; she knew what the future held for me. She understood all the tools I would need to accomplish my life's purpose, so she sent me to Æthelstan for instruction in English. He was a sweet, quiet man. I enjoyed learning from him because he took the time to ensure that not only did I learn exactly precise pronunciation, but also a myriad of his customs and a smattering of his culture. For what is language without the correct context in which to employ it?

I carried my bow and arrows close to my side and prayed Thor was watching over me this day. My fingers itched for the moment I would see an English man draw near so that I could smoothly sling an arrow to fly at him. I would take no chances this day.

Surprisingly, the trek to the holy place was uneventful and before long, our horde was released to rampage at will. There was no danger here. Every robed man the North men encountered was unarmed and usually running for his life. I had nothing to fear. I followed Ivar and his shield bearers into the central chambers within the large structure. What else was there for me to do? So much for his plan to force my hand and show my abilities to him! There was no need, foolish boy.

We walked through several clean, light halls that were obviously well cared for. It was a shame to see them covered in blood and lined with the bodies of the men who had inhabited them. No matter; death was life and so on. Lost in my own thoughts, I glanced up to my right where a large wooden door was left slightly ajar. Through the gap I could see hundreds of vials lining wooden shelves with little slips of paper indicating their contents. I would rejoin Ivar and his men later; this was where I needed to be.

I pushed the heavy door further open to reveal the place of work of what Æthelstan had described to me as an "alchemist." Alchemists were essentially more advanced practitioners of what I myself was doing, so I felt at home in this workshop. I only wished I had brought a satchel with me to smuggle some of the vials. I had not wanted to be weighed down in any way that would prevent my taking action to save my own life or one of my brothers' or sisters'. I inspected the rest of the room—mortar, pestle, stalks of herbs strung along a wooden rack for drying, a system of scales and weights. There! A satchel! I could not believe my good fortune. I snatched it up, opened it to see various pieces of paper filled with scrawling lines, and made room for the more interesting vials.

Æthelstan's instruction proved to be quite effective as I easily recalled the English letters and the sounds they made in my head. It took a bit of sounding out, but once I had gotten a word or two put together, the meaning easily followed.

 _'Choose what will help you survive; not what fascinates you,'_ I reminded myself. I focused my attention on the slips of paper depicting a skull meaning fatal.

 _'Monkshood—I'll take that. Foxglove—and that. Deadly Nightshade—definitely that.'_ I had no idea what any of these beautiful, poisonous growths did, but I'd be damned if I didn't take my holiday as a chance to find out. A woman's weapon arsenal can never be too small.

With only three plants of distinctly different appearance, they would be easy to tell apart without their labels. I had learned to trust myself and my abilities at a young age, especially that of memorization. I secured the three vials and placed them carefully between the pieces of parchment in the satchel to prevent damaging them as I walked. Just then, a loud cacophony of shouts and clanging weapons filled the echoing halls of the holy place. It seemed as if the English had mounted some sort of defense. I thought that was unusual for a place like this. At least, that was what Æthelstan had told me.

I collected my bow and arrows and peered out the door before bringing myself out into the hall. I followed the sounds that were coming from my right as I slung an arrow through the bow for added assurance. The yelling was dying down, and as I rounded a corner, I saw a cluster of men in armor lying in a bloody heap upon the floor of a large room meant for worship to the Christian God. My kinsmen surrounded them, breathing raggedly and staring at Hvitserk as he held his sword to the throat of a frightened English man,

"Where is the rest of the gold?" He must've thought this man was meant to guard the treasure.

"Please!" the English man begged in his foreign tongue, "King Egbert has sent us here to make contact with the North men! He wishes to strike a bargain! _Please!"_ Clearly, nothing he was saying made any sense to the North men's ears, and Hvitserk only grew more agitated and pushed the sword heavily into the man's neck. This earned him a hearty, albeit strained scream. A bargain? For the Ragnarsons? How could that possibly end up any differently than another massacred settlement? Looking over at Björn, Ubbe, Sigurd, and Ivar, I remembered that these men were not Ragnar and they deserved a chance to not make the same mistakes. And I could be the one to lead them to their glory. Now was as good a time as ever to step in,

"And why should the North men listen to your traitorous King?" I demanded in English. All of my people's attention was on me, and the English man looked at me with wide, hopeful eyes. I continued unaffected, "He has already proven himself disloyal by slaughtering our people who cultivated this land. He has no legs to stand on with us."

"Please, my lady! He has information—very important information—for the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok," he pleaded. At the mention of his father, Ivar's head snapped over to make eye contact with me,

"My father—what does he say of my father?" He had a good ear for English already if he could understand his father's name in the odd, slithering tones of this foreigner.

"He says King Egbert has very important information for you and wishes to strike a deal to prevent us wreaking further havoc on his shores," I explained. Ivar bristled at the notion of dealing with the unfaithful King.

"Our people have made a deal with him once before and look where that got them. We should—" I cut him off,

"Yes, yes. I've already been over that with him."

"And?" I turned to the English man again,

"Well? What sort of information does your King have?"

"He knows of Ragnar's fate—what has happened to him some years back, why he hasn't returned home to his people." His knowledge of King Ragnar's absence was proof enough for me that King Egbert was not bluffing. I expressed the man's words and my estimation of their validity to the Ragnarsons.

"How do we know that it isn't a trap?" Ubbe asked. Björn lifted a brow and smirked at him,

"That's the fun part: we don't."

In the end, it was decided that Björn, Ubbe, Ivar, and I—along with a small group of men—would accompany the haggard English man to King Egbert's castle while Hvitserk and Sigurd would take the loot back to the camp. From that point on, I only spoke to relay any questions the brothers had to the English man and return his answers in kind. As we walked through the forests of Wessex, I gazed around to take it all in, spotting plants of note here and there, and making a record in my head for when we would pass this way again. After a while of doing this, I found myself unable to concentrate anymore. There was an odd sensation in my shoulders—almost a nervous tension that sent a shiver up my spine. I raised a hand to my neck to check if anything was there, but there was nothing. I looked behind me and realized what had been the cause.

Ivar's blue-green eyes held me in captivity, and it seemed as though they had been doing so for some time now. He was studying me again, and when he saw me look at him, he smiled proudly. I lifted my chin to show him I was still content to carry on with this journey, and anything I did was my own choice. As I brought my head back around to continue walking forward, I couldn't help but admit to myself,

 _'He had said this raid would cause me to use some of my abilities. It might have been my own decision…but he was right. You have won this battle, but the war is far from over, Ivar the Boneless.'_

* * *

A/N: I truly appreciate your question about timelines. Being the completely selfish person I am, I decided to finagle timelines a bit to suit the story (i.e. Siggy living a bit longer than in the show to provide Hel with her instruction), but ultimately, each character will meet their same fate... To some degree. I hope that helps!


	3. King Egbert's Castle

Making it through the gate proved to be a small feat with the aid of our captive bringing up the front. The large wooden doors parted open slowly to reveal a bustling courtyard within. Men clad in metal stood in formation and practiced fighting with spears as one man stood apart from the group to call commands. Their routine immediately halted upon seeing the gate open, and they directed their attention to our band of North men entering. The man who had been calling commands stopped to move forward in a threatening manner.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. The English captive turned his head to look at me as if asking for approval. I nodded.

"I have brought back the Ragnarsons as King Egbert requested," his voice shook with the implications of his statement. He had lost five of his fellow soldiers that day and had come severely close to losing his own life. He had now been returned to his own people, beaten and humiliated. Ivar snickered at the man's pathetic display.

The guard leader did not ask the obvious question of where the other men were considering the copious amounts of blood worn by both the North men and the captive. It was obvious that he had dealt with our people before and was familiar with our aversion to sympathy. It was how we ensured our survival, which was something I doubted the Christians could understand. Their entire religion was based upon mercy and the holy act of forgiveness. I would use that to our advantage.

"Wait here. I will inform His Majesty of your arrival," the soldier ordered gruffly. Ivar's shield bearers had lowered him onto the ground where he was supplied with his customary crutches to carry on without aid. He looked at me with questioning eyes and a jerking nod in the direction that the English man had disappeared into the castle.

"He is gaining permission for our entry from the King," I explained. He looked as if he were about to charge up the steps as fast as his wooden supports could take him. He had grown impatient from resting throughout the fairly lengthy journey to the castle and wanted to confront this King Egbert as quickly as possible. His brothers shared in his sentiments—that was plain to see to anyone—but I knew we had to maintain our position of the relative upper hand as much as possible. That only came with patience and understanding of the situation. Politics were no fool's game.

I moved forward to catch up to him as he started picking his way toward the castle's inner entryway with a determined glare on his face. His brothers hesitantly took a step forward to follow as they came to understand his intent. I reached my hand out to stay his arm.

"Ivar, no," I warned quietly, "Look around you. Look at the men who would kill you if you so much as breathed at their King in the wrong way. You will not go charging into his castle without his blessing."

He looked at me in annoyance but whipped his head to stare down the band of English warriors in front of him. His disgust was evident,

"You think I will allow these _Christians_ to stop me?" He seemed almost crazed with his need to get to Egbert. It was then that I realized that this was not merely about his father anymore. It never really had been. Ivar had never cared what news the King of Wessex and Mercia had when it came to Ragnar Lothbrok; he wanted to meet him so he could learn how to kill him. To kill him and take his throne. Every North man felt a need for vengeance for the massacred settlement in all the bones of their bodies, but Ivar wanted vengeance as well as power. The other Ragnarsons wanted blood spilt for blood's sake. Ivar wanted it for a real purpose. He was beginning to show his intended path before it was time; I had to delay it unless he wanted to wind up dead in a field of English soil.

' _Appeal to his ambition. It is the only force greater than his intelligence.'_ There was the voice again—the one that sounded exactly like Siggy yet slightly fainter. Self-assured, knowledgeable, full of guidance and love. She was with me even after her death, and this brought me comfort unlike any I had known before on this earthly plane. I nodded my head in agreement at her words.

"Do you want to be King?" I asked in a heated whisper. The bluntness of my words shocked him to a halt. He waited some time as if measuring his response before he offered it to me.

"Why do you ask me this?" his eyes were full of mistrust. He must've felt he had betrayed himself in some way by allowing me to easily discern his true intentions. He would soon see that I was not an enemy. I brought my head closer to his and enunciated my words even more the second time,

"Do you want to be King, Ivar?" My voice was almost pleading and my eyes searched his in open trust. He could be honest with me, he had to believe that. A few more moments of silence passed between us.

"Yes."

"Good. Now you must listen to me. Christians or not, they will kill you if you march in and make demands of Egbert. As much as it will pain you, you must wait. Exercise your patience. You will be King, Ivar, but you must trust me when I say that it will take time." He had to see reason in my words. He simply had to. I wanted him to obtain as much power as one human possibly could in his lifetime, but he would not do that if he attempted to storm the royal fortress.

"Why must I wait? Why not start here and now and take what is owed to me?" he grilled, his lips forming a snarl. He wanted it badly, I could tell. It was empowering to see.

"Because, Ivar, men who try to take what they want by force are often met with a sharp end early on," I explained rationally. I would teach him in the way that Siggy had taught me. Ivar may have been a natural talent when it came to his smarts, but he had yet to learn the ways of diplomacy. I had no doubt he would be the most fearsome ruler once I had taught him everything I knew,

"The snake that bites the ankle is the one that loses its head, but the one that bides its time to slither into the bed of the sleeping man will take life without consequence," I poured as much gravity into the depiction as possible. He looked taken aback.

"Is the snake not then a coward to bite a man while he sleeps?" I softened at his words. He must understand that there was a difference between a coward and a wise man. The path of the snake was the one that I had chosen, and it would be my salvation. I would make it his as well.

"The snake is not a coward if he lives another day to bite many, _many_ more men…Think of the possibilities, Ivar," I lowered my voice even more and brought my lips to his ear. I saw his eyes narrow in contemplation as my words appealed to his sense of scheming logic, "We could go so far."

He moved away a bit to look me squarely in the eyes. I had reached the heart of his ambition. Being King was one thing, but leaving open-ended promises of glory before him was even better.

It had been done. I had revealed my ultimate goal to him—to conquer the world at his side while covered in shadow. It was for his sake that I had done it. He was acting like a fool when I knew that he could be so much more. He did not yet know me through and through, but he had a much greater idea of who I was now. And strangely, I felt no fear. No shame. Only power. He looked at me with a glimmer of respect in his features, and I knew our relationship had fundamentally shifted. I had won him over to my way of thinking by admitting my vulnerability, and I was excited to see how it would pay off in the future. We were united.

And yet again, the blessing of the Gods was upon us.

A shimmering of light created a circle around my vision, and I became heady with the promise of tomorrow. My skin seemed to vibrate as I touched him, and I felt the tremors coming from his arm too. He nodded in agreement ever so slowly, and his face set itself in the softest gaze I had ever seen it yet. He looked as if he would reach out and touch my face to ensure this was real. I was his vision realized and manifested before his very eyes. I felt such a trust and affinity for him that I knew I would do anything to prove my worth at his side.

"The King will see you now. Follow me." The guard was back. Ivar and I continued to stare at each other as the English warrior shouted at us to enter.

"Come," I instructed to the others with a look over my shoulder. Judging by the looks on Ubbe's and Björn's faces, they had witnessed the whole exchange but were unaware of its meaning. I knew I had spoken quietly enough to avoid letting them hear my promise of Ivar's glory. I would never betray Ivar's newly earned trust to them, but I still loved his brothers with all my heart.

We were led through a stone archway and into a long hallway lined with pictures woven into fabric. It was beautiful and certainly much different from the weaving our people did back at Kattegat. The designs of our blankets were linear and solid where these tapestries were free-flowing with flowers and animals of all colors and sizes. I could admire them for a long while, I decided.

Armed guards were placed throughout the castle, and we passed through an arch of spears before being granted permission to enter the King's throne room. He was seated atop a set of stone steps in a gilded seat with an ornately-carved back. It was much more elaborately crafted than anything I had ever seen, though it looked barren without furs to line it like the North men kings and earls had for their thrones. Upon entering the large room, King Egbert looked up from a document he was currently reading over with one of his finely robed nobles.

"Ah, thank you, Sir Ector. Forgive me, but I must greet our guests, the famous sons of King Ragnar Lothbrok." His voice was jovial and light, but there was a predatory element about him that I did not trust. He continued, "I am told there is one amongst you who speaks our language."

Our captive took this opportunity to raise his voice,

"Yes, Your Highness! The woman, she can speak in our tongue." King Egbert turned his probing gaze upon me. A long while ago, I would have felt uncomfortable under his stare, but I had since learned to ignore such useless inclinations. Even so, I once again fell back onto my training with Siggy—an intimidated woman was one who was easily controlled and therefore no threat. I did my best to look as if the King's attention was unwanted yet thrilling. Unintended sexuality bred interest. I was acting like the perfect demure woman that these Christians appreciated so much despite my 'heathen' background.

"Excellent," King Egbert purred as he took in the sight of me, "Pray tell, young lady, what is your name?"

This could prove to be tricky. Christians had a fascination with the afterlife and how their actions while in this world would decide whether they would spend an eternity with their Jesus or in a fiery, torturous domain. Æthelstan had cautioned me that my name was synonymous with this eternal place of punishment and speaking it would end with my head on a spike in the very best of circumstances. I would have to use another name—a more disarming and familiar name for the English King.

"Helena, my Lord," I spoke in quiet, even tones. I would ensure that this would be my best performance yet. Helena was one of the saints of their faith that was known for her charity and dedication to Christ. I had originally thought it contrite of myself to play at being Christian-like, but the Gods understood my undertaking was for them. Not to mention it was a grand joke to 'convert' to Christianity to win favor with the English as Rollo had done on a raid to Northumbria a long time ago. It was all in good fun to me.

The King raised his eyebrows in disbelief,

"How could a North woman such as yourself come to have so holy a name?" I was ready for questions such as these, and fortunately, I knew of his history with my tutor.

"I adopted it after I became enlightened in the Christian education I received from a man of God. Perhaps you knew of him, Your Highness? His name was Æthelstan." The King's eyes widened and his jaw dropped in astonishment. I knew I had struck an emotional chord within him. Based on Æthelstan's stories of his time in King Egbert's castle, it was evident that the monarch was overly fond of him. I could not blame him—it was exceedingly easy to fall in love with Æthelstan. Of course, it was only in the platonic sense. The former monk was far too kind and too gentle to generate any other feeling besides fondness from me. He was not Viking.

The King sprang to his feet and moved swiftly across the room toward me. Ubbe and Björn moved closer to me in a show of protection while Ivar's face took on a deadly shadow.

"No, he trusts me," I calmed them. Ivar shifted his view from the King to me and looked almost suspicious. I hoped he did not think that I only went around currying men's favor because I could. I did it because I had to, and in this instance, it was for him and the Gods that I did it. He must know that this was not the real me. True, I was in my element under this guise of Helena, but her existence, mannerisms, and motivations were not my own. I shot him a secretive wink that only he could see. Some—but not all—of the suspicion in his stare dissipated.

King Egbert extended his hand to take my own and guided me back to his throne. He sat me down in the chair to his left as the right was reserved for his closest advisor. That was easier than I had expected.

"Tell me, Lady Helena, how long were you able to study with Æthelstan?"

* * *

The conversation that followed flowed easily as most of the information I gave him was true. I spoke freely of my love for my former tutor, and the King shared his own. I had ensured that the Ragnarsons were seated at the table closest to the throne and given plenty of food to satisfy their large appetites from the journey here. They had grudgingly taken the meal and glowered at the King in silence as we conversed. I punctuated our dialogue with plenty of arm touching, coquettish giggles, and chaste blushes. The King found me a modest and lovely woman—made only more desirable by my affiliation with his beloved monk. Björn and Ubbe were impatient in their demeanor; they looked like they would interrupt without hesitation if I did not redirect the King to our reason for coming in the first place soon.

Ivar appeared downright murderous. I had to avoid looking in his direction for fear of letting my excitement overtake my senses. It was truly amazing to see the connection we had developed in the last few hours before me now. Of course, I was prone to lack of discipline and allowed myself one glance.

He was breathtaking. His eyes focused on me with such a piqued fervor that I lost my breath for a moment. I could see that he would have to learn in the future to allow me to conduct myself as was necessary to achieve our goals, and that would not always take place in the most pleasing manner for him. Ivar was possessive by nature, and I could not let that be our undoing.

I hoped the Ragnarsons did not think I had forgotten that this was the man responsible for the slaughter of our people. I hadn't, in fact, and I was merely smoothing away any reason the King had to distrust me in the first place. In the uncomfortable exchange that would inevitably follow, I wanted to have as much starting power as I could obtain. King Egbert was a man who appreciated pleasantries even when they were inappropriate, I could tell. He would have no such pleasantries from the Ragnarsons, so I would do what I could. I sent a prayer to Loki in thanks for the silver of my tongue he had granted that day.

"King Egbert, I am afraid we have spoken at length, yet we have failed to address the main aims for our attendance in your exquisite home," my performance for this man was everything Siggy could be proud of, but to the North men with me it would be considered deplorable. I was glad they could not understand the words we exchanged, "You have been kind enough to give us food and rest, and now we must repay the favor. Why have you brought us here, Sire?"

"You have been a gracious guest, Lady Helena, but I am afraid you and I both understood that it was not under the most pleasant of circumstances. I hope you will forgive me when I deliver the horrible news that, alas, must be delivered."

"And what news is that, Your Highness?" I questioned. We were certainly talking about Ragnar, that much was evident.

"First, Lady, tell the sons of Ragnar that I am most sorry about the unfortunate fate of their father's settlement in my kingdom. I want them to know that the culprits were dealt with swiftly and justly. We had their heads removed and placed upon the castle walls as a sign that Wessex stands with the North men," King Egbert made a show of being apologetic, but I saw right through it. The predacious look in his face had returned, though I supposed that he did his best to hide it.

It was like having a mirror reflected on my soul, and I knew him thoroughly in that moment. He had the same look in his eye that Siggy had when she spied Rollo from across the room in the great hall at Kattegat. The same look that Floki had when he spied a tree that told him it would make a seaworthy vessel. The look I imagined I had when I observed Ivar, and of late, the look he had when he returned my stare. It was full of unfulfilled desires that would be accomplished at all costs. Looks of promised things to come.

The final mysteries surrounding the English dissipated in my mind. It appeared that even though King Egbert and I were from completely different cultures, we had the same base motivations. We understood that the bounds of one's spirit did not exist if he or she truly wanted to achieve great things. I could respect him for that, but I could never trust him.

I, of course, could not share with the Ragnarsons the exact same sentiments that the King had just expressed unless I wanted a bloodbath on my hands. North men took vengeance no matter the cost. Björn and Ubbe would kill whoever they could to exact their revenge and would be glad to die in the process. I turned to my kinsmen,

"King Egbert tells me he regrets that he has to share some bad news concerning our Absent King."

"Well, go on," Björn urged. Ubbe bobbed his head in agreement. Ivar did not move.

"They accept what has happened. But, King, your messenger said you had news of our beloved King Ragnar's fate. Is that true?" I asked primly. I did my best to hide my eagerness to hear his answer. Desperation was unbecoming in a young lady to the English.

"My dear Lady Helena, I am afraid it is quite horrible to describe to a sensitive lady such as yourself, but it must be done. King Ragnar… Well, he returned to the settlement some seven years ago. My knights told me he was seen making sacrifices to your Gods in the fields where the North men had started to cultivate a crop. He left as quickly as he came a few days after, and I received word from Northumbria a short time later that King Ælla captured him and had him executed," he explained quite unhurriedly and with characteristic feigned sadness.

"King Ragnar is dead?" I asked in disbelief. He couldn't be! He was Ragnar Lothbrok, son of Odin. He couldn't just die by the hands of these weak English Christians! How could I tell that to his sons who sat before me?

"It is regrettable, my dear, I understand," King Egbert tried to console me by placing a hand on the square of my back and rubbing in circular motions. He was truly a gluttonous man, but I acted as though his gesture brought me some comfort. I took a breath and heaved a determined sigh. I had to tell them.

"King Ragnar Lothbrok… is dead. He was captured by King Ælla of Northumbria and put to death," I said making eye contact with each of the Ragnarsons.

"Why would he come back to England after Paris? And without us?" Ubbe questioned in hushed bewilderment.

"King Egbert says he was seen making sacrifice to the Gods over the cursed soil of our slaughtered settlement. He must have been atoning for his mistakes to Odin," I offered. Björn looked to be in deep contemplation but said nothing.

"How did Ælla do it?" Ivar asked venomously. He looked at King Egbert, but his question was directed at me. Why was that important?

"Ivar, I don't really—"

" _HOW_ DID HE DO IT?" he bellowed. I started at his unexpected outburst, and the English men looked ready to draw their swords. I turned to King Egbert to calm the situation who raised his hand in a pacifying gesture to his men. The King turned his probing gaze to me. I did not have to work hard to look as if asking my next question was tearing me apart inside.

"Your Highness, I offer my utmost apologies, but the Ragnarsons wish to know how King Ælla put their father to death," the King looked incredibly uncomfortable as I explained Ivar's outcry, but I continued for their sake, "It must pain you to tell us, but it is for Ragnar's honored and cherished memory that we must know. Please, Sire," I implored delicately. King Egbert closed his eyes and breathed out at length through his nostrils.

"I understand, Lady Helena. I will be blunt that I do not agree with what the Northumbrians did whatsoever. In fact, it sickens me. I considered Ragnar a dear friend… I am afraid King Ælla had him thrown into a pit of beasts," he divulged sorrowfully.

"What sort of beasts?" I had to know. His fate already sounded grim, but it was not enough. His sons would soon demand it anyway.

"Vipers." I gulped. I could not imagine so horrific a fate, and a warrior such as Ragnar deserved to die in a much more valorous way. Blood would be spilt for this. I turned to the Ragnarsons and looked them bravely in the eye,

"King Ælla had him thrown into a pit of vipers."

"Good," Ivar stated decidedly, "So he has done, and so it will be done to him." He looked at his brothers, "We will avenge our father, and we will ruin this land while we do it."

Björn and Ubbe nodded in approval, and I could see their jaws set in grim determination at the task before them.

So it had begun.

* * *

We had marched back to the encampment in a foreboding silence, and upon our arrival, the Ragnarsons had told our people directly what had happened to the Absent King. We were not ones for disguising the truth to make it more appealing. Ragnar was dead, slaughtered in an abominable way.

The last I knew the brothers were in the temporary hall plotting revenge for their father; they would not be back for some time. I laid on mine and Ivar's cot contemplating the events of the day and twirling the dark Hel stone between my fingers. I had not died, so that was a positive, but it was the only one that I could think of at that point.

I could not come up with a feasible way that the Ragnarsons could invade Northumbria and kill King Ælla with our current strength. We needed more men and more ships. We had to return to Kattegat and recruit from the surrounding villages and earldoms. There was no other way.

I was mulling over the ideal way to go about this when I heard someone enter the tent. I broke off my current thought pattern and looked up to see Ivar moving with his crutches to our cot. His mouth was set in a straight line and his eyes blazed with a fire I had seen only when he took in something he could not understand and did not particularly care for. Based on how he looked at me now, I knew whatever connection we had established today was gone.

He picked up speed as he moved through the tent, stopping at the edge of our cot in a lurch from his momentum.

' _Out with it then, boy,'_ I couldn't help but think to myself as my eyes narrowed in annoyance. What had _I_ done? I thought we had finally come to understand each other.

"What is King Egbert to you?" he questioned maliciously. I was slightly taken aback.

"What?" I asked in confusion. He bared his teeth in irritation.

" _What_ is King Egbert to you?" Repeating the question did not make it any more reasonable.

"Ivar, I have no idea what—" He threw his crutches down at his sides and collapsed onto the cot in a gross fit of rage. He used his arms to drag himself so he was on top of me. He may not have had use of his legs, but he had employed them to pin me down quite effectively. His wild blue-green eyes flashed into mine and stilled my body without my consent.

"How dare you speak to me of trusting you when you throw yourself at that _Christian_ King! You are _filthy_ to lower yourself so far. I can't believe I trusted you! I thought you would help me conquer England. I thought the Gods had promised my greatness in your eyes—I saw it!" he paused to take a steady breath, and he looked almost remorseful, "I was wrong. I will never trust you again."

I had not come this far for him to take it all away from me. This was why I preferred to keep my secrets close to my heart. It was the only way to ensure that I would not be cut off in my prime. I had violated my fundamental upbringing for this boy by telling him of my purpose in life and he was trying to rip it out of my grasp. I was not going to let that happen. But rather than regress to the liar I had become, I chose to continue on this reckless path of truth.

"Ivar, how could you think that any word I have spoken to King Egbert today was the truth? Did you not see me look at you before I joined him by his throne? That was meant to assure you of my allegiance to _you_." I could tell that my words were having no effect when he tried to look away from me in disgust. No, he would not take away my glory before I even had it. I placed my hand upon his cheek and brought his eyes back to mine.

"You cannot tell me you did not feel the blessing of the Gods upon us that day in the clearing, Ivar! And again in the courtyard today? That was Odin smiling upon us," I beseeched him. His eyes widened in remembrance. I pressed on, "You saw how we could work together today, and I swear to you on the throne of Hel, that my aims will always be yours. I will kill Kings for you. I will deliver thrones into your hands. I will win your subjects to your favor. I will do all of this for you just so long as you do not cast me aside now. We are _meant_ to conquer the world together, Ivar the Boneless, and you know it."

During my vow, his breathing became ragged and his eyes bore into mine as he pictured our future as a lethal pair. He heard the unmitigated outpouring of trust in my words, and I knew he believed me. After a few moments of contemplative silence, he recollected himself, searched my face, and locked his eyes onto my mouth.

' _You will become a mere plaything if you do not stop him now,'_ Siggy's voice pierced my desperate thoughts. Ivar slowly lowered his mouth to mine, but before he could make contact, I used my arms to push him off of me. He rolled onto his back on the cot and stared blankly at the ceiling as if confused by my rejection.

"Do not let your ambition bleed into desire, Ivar, or we will never recover from it," I warned him solemnly. I appreciated that I was warning myself too. Somewhere in the course of today's events, I had found myself seeking his approval and wanting to bring him closer. That was dangerous; that was how people wound up killed. Desire and lust could ruin a great many things, and I owed it to my people and myself to help Ivar achieve the visions cast upon us by the Gods. There would be no room for our feelings.

But a dark, selfish part of me—one I conceded was ruled by Hel herself, Daughter of Mischief—wanted to grab Ivar by his shoulders and feel our aggressive aspirations through his lips. I wanted to ruin everything for the sake of a kiss.

It simply could not be.

I rolled over onto my side facing away from the object of my torment and drifted into a fitful sleep. I dreamed of villages aflame and armored soldiers stabbing North men with long spears and thick swords. Niorun was taking her revenge in my sleep for when I had cursed her last night.

Somewhere through the crackling of the raging infernos and inhuman screams of the fallen, I heard the words, _'I don't want to recover from it.'_ Suddenly the fires dissipated and my kinsmen's wounded bodies disappeared. Sunlight streamed through the clouds of smoke and birds began to sing. The sky cleared to bright blue and the fields were green and untouched.

Peace descended upon my spirit and I felt a warm trace on my lips.


	4. The Queen's Chambers

England had proven to be an unworthy adversary in the week or so we spent along its shores, and we had set sail with much more weight in gold and trinkets than we ought. The ships made slow progress on the trip back and we seemed to be motionless at times. Some of the men grew desperate enough to throw pieces of provisional foodstuffs overboard to lighten their loads rather than relinquish the treasure we had collected. Others chose to relieve their vessels of some gold and trinkets here and there as it was the heaviest cargo, but they were quickly whacked over the head to right their minds.

Convincing the others of our need to return to Kattegat in order to better our forces had been fairly easy. A campaign of this scale demanded careful planning with no room for error in its preparation.

Paris had been one thing for our people. We were outmanned and, to an extent, outdone in ingenuity. But we had adapted, as is the Viking way. Rather than continue to hurl ourselves into harm's way on the walls of the famed city of Francia, we simply whispered false nothings into her ear and she let us in without a second thought. _Christians_ and their mercy.

King Egbert had foolishly allowed us a few more days in Wessex without quarrel, provided we did not take any more treasures or topple any more monasteries. I had used our time as an opportunity to seek a map of England from the alchemist's workrooms, and the wise man—whoever he was—did not disappoint. The tanned and leathery feel of the parchment was wonderful to hold in my hands and puzzle over all the ways in which so beautiful a land could be taken. I may not have been one for fighting, but I had studied the wars of great English kings with Æthelstan. Not just that, but he taught me of the ancient cultures surrounding a great body of water called the Mediterranean Sea. It was supposedly much larger than the sea we crossed to reach England. A sea with waters so blue and clear you could see to the bottom of it and count the fish swimming below. I would see it one day, I knew it. The Gods did not create such a wide world for me to sit idle in one region.

I knew a great deal about the employment of forces and the easiest way to win with the least amount of people. It all came down to a combination of gaining and using the best terrain to your advantage. That was how the small band of 300 or so Greeks had stopped an army of thousands from making it through a pass at Thermopylae. And though the North man has enough fighting spirit in him to be worth ten—no, twenty—weak English men, we still had to use the terrain to our advantage. Pride led to foolishness, and I would not allow a loss in battle for lack of planning on my conscience.

I had plenty of time to consider the contours of the map and ways in which the land could help our forces, especially those areas further from the shores. We were a seafaring people, and the water was all we knew. Most of our traditional maneuvers involved being close to the ships for easy retreat. Not that we would ever run away. We would stay and fight to the last—it was our way. We kept the boats close more out of habit than anything else. It would take much preparation in the form of shipbuilding, harvesting, and recruiting. We would have to send messengers in every direction that we—the Ragnarsons and I—ourselves did not travel to enlist men and women.

' _Why not go it alone? You have the means.'_ Siggy's suggestion flooded my thoughts effectively putting an end to any musing on the subject. That was true, it was completely within my power to achieve my ambitions given my scope of ability and knowledge. It would be a bit more difficult to attack from the shadows when the light of other people's eyes were forever fixed upon you, but it was certainly able to be done. My thoughts wavered and immediately returned to Ivar and how to avail myself of his talents in tandem with my own.

I rotated around to spot him lying on the far end of the boat with his eyes closed and his head leaning back in rest.

I couldn't believe that this was the man that I was involved in the greatest of history's schemes with. How could someone whom I knew the Gods had blessed for a thousand lifetimes over look so serene and without a care? How could this be the man I saw myself conquering all of England with? I saw Valhalla in his very eyes and he offered it to me freely.

I studied him so closely that my head cocked to the side in contemplation and my eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully. I swore I would look back on this day when I was old and gray and remember it was exactly this moment that I realized how blessed I was by the Gods.

All at once, Ivar heaved a great sigh of exasperation, lowered his head, and snapped his eyes open to look directly into mine. He had sensed that someone was observing him, and he did not look pleased about it. His brows lowered over his intimidating hazel orbs and his lip drew up on one side in a snarl. But when he saw that it was me, he seemed to release some of the predatory tension that squeezed at his shoulders and jawline. The snarl swept itself away into a tidy line, and he kept his gaze fixed upon mine.

Njord blew a caressing whisper of a wind along the soft skin under my ear that tickled the hairs along the back of my neck. A freezing tingle made its way down my spine as anticipation lodged itself in my chest and caused my heart to beat wildly. I had been caught staring at him without inhibition, and the Gods consecrated it in their holy sensations.

I felt the right corner of my mouth tug upward just so, my nostrils flared a bit with excitement, and my eyes softened as I took in the sight of him—calculating, proud, kingly. He was overwhelming.

His discerning eyes easily spotted my positive reaction to his attention and narrowed ever so slightly in a wicked way. Gods, he could command one's attention without so much as speaking one word. He was born to rule. I smiled widely back at him, overcome with contentment for the way this journey across the Western Sea had panned out.

' _You smile at him honestly? You, my dear girl, are failing,'_ Siggy's voice scolded.

I had never conducted myself like this before. Even as a girl I had relied on my instincts if ever my instruction lacked for the situation at hand, which rarely happened. I trusted in myself and only myself because I had to. And now I am brought on a raid alongside some pigheaded boy to satisfy his twisted idea of entertainment, and I can't stop thinking about how to intertwine our fates? Siggy was absolutely right, I was failing. Miserably so. She had taught me better than this.

My eyes widened in realization as I turned back around and headed to the side of the deck yet again.

Men are tools, not loves. Dreams achieved, never pined away after. Instruments and nothing more.

Ivar was a means to an end. A piece of kindling to start my fire burning so that it would one day become an inferno that engulfed the world.

' _Yes, this is your way. Imagine it. Imagine the crowds that will throw flowers and worship at your feet. You will be a goddess among men,'_ Siggy's melodic reason wound its way around my mind in a serpentine caress.

But why? Why could I not include others at my side? Why could I not let someone—

' _Because you will_ die, _you foolish girl. Have I taught you nothing?_ '

She was not lying. How could she be? Trust led to loyalty and loyalty led to death in the interest of saving the other person. She had warned me that I was an ardent girl and that my emotions would be my undoing. Siggy had worked long, endless hours with the intent of teaching me how to conceal them. It may have been a lost cause, but she worked toward it anyway.

I would have to kill small animals without shedding a tear. She would allow me to fall in love with a boy my age only to end it the next day at her behest. It was meant to show me that nothing lasts forever and attachment was an arbitrary nothing prone to collapse. Her instruction had never led me wrong.

But _he_ was different. Though we had just started on this life journey together, I felt the strong bond of aged companions in our dealings. Like long lost soul twins reunited at last and with little time to waste abiding with the mundane proprieties of this world. I might die if I embarked on this adventure with Ivar in the long run, but I ultimately had to ask myself: would it all be worth it?

Would Ivar be a good King to my people? Would the North men be taken care of for generations upon generations to come? Would I learn new things and become an even greater shadow fighter than I was now? Would the Gods see fit to call me an unorthodox warrior and bring me into the halls of Valhalla with my kinsmen on the day when I leave Midgard? All of these questions danced around and around in my head until I grew so dizzy I thought I would faint. It was all too much. Years of upbringing were directly clashing with a few moments of intuition, but both held equal ground.

I grabbed the Hel stone from my waist belt and pressed it to my cheek with the palm of my hand. I relaxed my head into the feel of the cool, dark stone and prayed for the answer to the dilemma within,

' _Hel, goddess of the dead and ruler of the underworld, I pray you tell me what I must know. Reveal the way that I must go, and I will pursue it with all my heart. You would not steer me wrong, Daughter of Mischief._ '

I waited with eyes squeezed shut and my breath caught in my chest. I needed this answer from my chosen deity, for she surely knew me better than any mortal. Siggy may have been my mentor, but Hel was my creator. She would pass onto me wisdom wrought through the secrets of the dead—it was endless. I waited with my eyes squeezed shut and my breath caught in my chest. I shook with the force of concentration I employed and begged for an answer, a riddle, any—

' _He_ is _the way._ _Stay faithful, daughter. The Gods see your faith._ ' A rush of cold overtook my body as I felt a release of all of my nervous tension. She had spoken to me! Hel had seen fit to lend her opinion to a mortal, and that mortal was me! I could not contain the pure ecstasy I felt. Not only had I found a partner with whom I would achieve my life purpose, but my Goddess had blessed our union. A wellspring of emotion burst up from within my stomach and worked its way into my chest with the speed of Thor's hammer casting lightning bolts from the sky.

I grabbed onto the front post of the boat and threw back my head to release a throaty scream of praise to the Gods above. My behavior would have seemed odd and out of place, had not my homeland of Kattegat risen up on the horizon at that exact moment. Good news all around!

I slumped against the rail with the effort of expended emotion as the chorus of joyous yells rose around me. Kattegat shone brightly in the beaming sunlight this day. I could not wait to get off the boats and make preparations for the next leg of our journey to ready ourselves for England. The momentum of the Gods was with us, so who could stop us now?

I turned my bright and hopeful eyes around to face Ivar, and flashed him a most effusive smile that belied all of the things we would do together. I meant to say that I was with him—I would stay with him all the way—for now I had irrefutable proof that the Gods wanted it. He was unmoved and simply continued to watch me from a distance, his eyes scanning my body from top to bottom and returning to my face with the softest look of appraisal.

I tensed in excitement. I allowed my eyes to sweep over him in kind and indulged my forbidden desire for the man.

' _Only a moment_ ,' I promised.

He was striking in spite of his condition. His every feature drew my gaze in and soon I was lost in his cool stare. We looked at each other for what seemed to be only a few moments but was actually several minutes. It was almost as if he were sizing me up—no doubt our last interaction had thrown him off course. I bet he thought I would succumb to him like some feeble-minded girl in search of acceptance from anyone she could get her hands on. Oh no, I had been through all of that long ago with much more attractive men than him, and certainly much more able-bodied ones at that.

No, he was not my be all and end all when it came to his physicality; it was his mind that drew me to him. That, coupled with his incomparable ambition, made him the most alluring thing I'd ever seen. And he knew it.

He crooked the corner of his mouth into a knowing smirk that made me feel downright _alive._

We looked away only when the boat struck against the dock and those around us made ready to exit.

No matter how much I enjoyed it, I would have to be careful around him. He may be my partner in loyalty and trust—two very new and frightening concepts for me—but he was still human, and I would have to guard myself somewhat from now on around him. Too much more of this unrestrained yearning within my own mind and I would find myself in a world of regret.

* * *

We disembarked sometime around midday to see our entire beloved village on the docks and shores to greet us. Cheers could be heard among the large crowd as various loved ones rejoined their thankful families. Of course, the cheers grew even louder when the treasure was unloaded a short while later. This would provide for our people for a long while seeing as each man or woman who participated in the raid was able to take a decent share for him or herself.

I was pleased to see the smiling faces of my people, but I chose not to linger in the crowds. I did not have anyone to welcome me home. My father was dead, Siggy was dead, and Floki had a family to take care of him. I did not lament the losses of my father and mentor for though I could no longer see or speak to them, I knew they were in a better place among the Gods looking down upon us now. They did not reside in Helheim—that was the place where the aged and diseased went when they died. I sent up a quick prayer for Odin to watch over them and moved away from the beach, careful not to interrupt anyone's homecoming I passed along the way.

The last few weeks had been...eventful _,_ to say the least, but I was looking forward to spending a bit of quiet time away from the buzzing heart of Kattegat to gather my strength and spirits before the inevitable hardships that were to come.

I continued to walk further from the shore, and eventually, I was surrounded by trees, safe in the forest at last. In order to truly feel grounded, I knew I must get far away enough from the village center that I no longer felt the hum of the hustle and bustle of my kinsmen. I reached the start of a mountain within the forest with large rocks strewn about the incline and began to climb. There was a favored spot at the peak that allowed for an amazing view of Kattegat and the surrounding sea with the presence of the forest on all sides surrounding me like a cradle. I called it the "easy earth" because it was here that I was able to shout my praise to the Gods and seek their intervention without desperation or madness, but merely love and happy abandon.

I pushed harder and faster up the mountain, grabbing rocks covered in thick, green moss to hoist myself higher and higher. It wasn't a giant mountain, but I had broken a sweat by the time I reached the top. It was good to stretch one's legs every now and then. Otherwise, we North men would fall prey to too much ale and festivities. A fat rump would replace a steady sword or shield hand. Lagertha had shown me how to keep my body fit for the sake of my mind. She would take me on tours of the earldom that belonged to Earl Kalf and make me walk at a brisk pace to keep up. She sometimes became a little bit crazed in her covering the expanse of his lands since she knew they were rightfully hers. I could see the possessive fire in her eyes. It hurt to walk so far and so quickly some days, but I always felt stronger when it was done.

Lagertha took the time to confide in me during those outings simply because she knew I was one of the few women in her company who could hear a great deal and reveal none of it to anyone else. I was a woman of secrets, and while she never revealed too much to me, she certainly told me a great deal more than she told to any of those who frequented Earl Kalf's hall. She was the closest thing I had to a friend during my stay in the distant earldom. I knew she was looking out for me, a girl with so many secrets and not enough guardians. Of course she believed me weak since I was not a shieldmaiden like her, and I had not taken the time to disclose any of my hidden talents. It was not her place to know them, just like it was not my place to be skilled in the ways of combat. It was an unspoken understanding we had about each other. She was truly a wise woman.

I was glad to get back to hiking on my own now. My lungs ached from the effort and my legs felt as if they might give out, but I pressed on ever further. Soon enough I had crested the top of the rocky up cropping and padded my way across a large flat stone that jutted out over a precipice to the village below. Kattegat was alive more than she had ever been with foreign merchants and traders calling their wares, farmers turning their land, and people going about their daily chores. Today's arrival of our ships from the raid in England had added even more energy to the already buzzing center. I loved Kattegat—its inhabitants had raised me as a collective to appreciate life and all the opportunities it had to offer in their own small-minded or lofty ways, and I was immensely grateful for it. The people below had each had a hand in my upbringing, and I would pay them back for their kindness a thousand fold. I swore an oath to myself that it would be done. I would never see my people starve or want for anything again if I could help it. And I would if I continued to work with the Ragnarsons.

I breathed in the ancient smells and listened to the ageless sounds of the forest as I sat down on the edge of the stony precipice. One misstep and I would tumble through the open air to the flat ground below. It lent a sense of exhilaration and danger to the experience. I crossed my legs, placed my palms flat against the earth, and simply began to sway. Slowly side to side, back and forth, allowing the consistent rhythm to steal my conscious away to a dream-like state. I breathed in one long inhale and released it in a low hum that seemed to span the length of all time.

The one long note gradually changed in pitch and soon I was humming a tune of an old battle song. In my trance, the hushed notes soon gave way to proper singing that were carried away on the wind to the spirits who watched from the sky. I could feel the soul of the forest as it cradled me ever closer and urged my singing on with the softest of nudges. The 'easy earth' indeed.

I carried on like that, tune after tune, song after song, until I felt that my heart could express no more. It must have been a few hours since I had first arrived to the peak for the sky had visibly darkened to the point where a few stars could be seen. I was physically worn out from staying in one spot for so long after such a long climb, but my soul was strengthened ten-fold. And it looked like I had rallied just in time as I gazed down to the center of Kattegat by the hall of the Absent King to see a great bonfire burning bright. Everyone in the village looked to be there to present a proper welcoming party to our newly returned raiders. I may have been tired, but I felt so content in my heart that I could not stand to miss it!

I lifted my gaze one more time to the sky to seek out the praying star of Odin, sent up a silent plea for protection, and bolted back down the mountain as fast I could manage.

* * *

I had made sure to pretty myself as much as possible for the festivities this night—I had a task to accomplish. I would dine with my fellow kinsmen, those same ones who had traveled to England with me as well as those who had awaited our return here in Kattegat. There would be plenty of eligible young men ripe for the picking, and I meant to take full advantage. With my budding desire for Ivar threatening to distract me from my original aim of aiding him in his rise to glory, I felt my only option was to find someone else to take my mind off of it. It made sense; Hel wore a black suit of armor when preparing to retrieve the dead from this plane. I would protect myself in my own form of armor that comprised mindless flirtations and harmless touches. Ivar would thank me later for it.

' _So you trust him now, but you still won't let him come close to you. Maybe you are not a lost cause after all,'_ Siggy's voice permeated my thoughts as I looked in the shining glass that bore my reflection. It felt good to finally be of the shared opinion of my mentor again, though I felt I could not submit to it fully ever again. I found myself back in Queen Aslaug's chambers in the same household position that I was before as though I had never left. But I had left, and a lot had changed within me during that time.

I allowed my eyes to roam over my lithe form drinking in the picture I presented. My golden brown hair was braided into itself sideways across the front of my head to keep it from my eyes while the rest hung freely down past my shoulders in soft, wavy tresses. I had taken the time to create smaller braids that hung throughout my loose hair giving the illusion of an elegant look. It was simple, yet effective. I wore a clean white underdress that flowed to my ankles with long sleeves to keep away the sharp prick of the chill night air. Over it I wore a suspended hangerock of a tree leaf green meant to capture the eye with two large, gold medallions—prizes from our recent raid. I had chosen to add a set of bauble earrings to draw a man's eye upward to around my throat, which was by far the most vulnerable and graceful part on a woman's body (even if he did not realize it outright). I lined my eyes with kohl to make the surrounding skin darker and thus the pupils more vibrant. There was no escaping my spell tonight.

' _You look marvelous. I wish I was alive to enchant the room with you_ ,' Siggy voiced in my mind as I took in the result of my aesthetic labors. She was such an attention seeker. I missed her.

"Thank you," I voiced aloud out of habit. What did I care? There was no one around to hear my mutterings to myself.

"Who are you talking to in there?" his voice cut sharp as a knife through the leather curtains partitioning Aslaug's private chambers from the main room of the hall.

Ivar.

It was as if he had planted himself there in the hall, waiting for the opportunity to catch me doing something out of the norm. I refused to let him see me blush in shock, so I remained hidden behind the curtains.

"No one. Merely sending up a prayer to the Gods," I explained.

"And what could our dear Daughter of Mischief have to be thankful for on this evening in particular?" he taunted. He was unable to watch me scan the room rapidly as my mind scrambled to come up with a suitable explanation. His teasing was meant to lure me out of hiding. He wanted me to defend myself against him face to face. I was not new to the ways of men, and he no doubt wanted me out in the open, unable to conceal anything. Prime for the manipulation. I trusted him, but I did not know him completely yet.

"That I've made it this far in life. It's been quite eventful, especially these past few weeks across the sea," I attempted to bring the conversation back to Ivar's favorite topic of conversation—his exploits. That way, he would converse at length to the open air and I could slip out undetected through one of the side entryways.

He would have none of it.

"Why do you not come out here? Why must you insist on remaining hidden?" He was certainly perceptive. He always was; he cut straight to the chase without unnecessary regard for pleasantries. I liked that about him, but not in this particular circumstance.

"Because I must. I have no other explanation for you." If he could be blunt, then so could I. I wanted no reason to prevent my success at the welcoming party that would follow. Seeing him now would be a direct hindrance to that. He was too…enticing.

I heard him hesitate before replying.

"Come out," he ordered. He sounded amused of all things. I couldn't tell if that was a good or a bad thing. This was a risk I wanted to take, and so I decided to test the waters a bit more.

"I don't think I will, Ivar. What could possibly be waiting for me on the other side of these walls that I don't already have for myself over here?" I posed the question across the barrier lightheartedly, though I couldn't help but emphasize the barb I slipped in. I heard a low growl from the other side of the partition. Apparently, he had reached his capacity for patience.

"I will give you one more opportunity to come out here, Hel." What could he possibly do to force me against my will to the main hall? And why did it matter so much to him? I do suppose it was his insatiable sense of curiosity with his newest ally.

"What is _so_ important that you must—"

I was cut off when I heard a thump followed by a paced drag. He was making his way over to Queen Aslaug's chambers with a vengeance. I did not want him to see me—I was not his prize to take, no matter what relationship we had.

But I was no child. I would not run and hide. I would face him as the woman I was.

He was soon at the door and nudged his upper body inside the curtain to draw himself through. The moment his head cleared the barrier, his eyes snatched mine in a harsh glare. Based on the severe look on his face, he must've fully intended to lay into all the reasons that he, Ivar Ragnarson the Boneless, felt it was important that he have questions answered exactly when he posed them. He gave pause, however, as he allowed his eyes to take me in. His eyes widened slightly and he slowed in his forward movement. We stared at each other for a few moments. He looked no different than normal, but I still loved to see the sight of him.

His eyes traveled ever so gradually up my body, trailing the lines of my dress, and eventually coming to rest face. He spent the next several seconds analyzing the makeup and jewelry I had applied. I felt my heartbeat quickening its pace and my breathing becoming a bit shallower than I wanted. I had to leave… Immediately. But before I had the option to make my excuses and exit the room, Ivar allowed the exacting look to dominate his face once more. He moved quickly to the table in the center of the room and hoisted himself upon it to a sitting position. He was practically eye level with me now, and it was much more intimidating. Or it would be to a normal person. I chose not to allow it to affect me. He already affected me enough.

I readied myself to withdraw once more. Live to fight another day and snakes and all that.

"Why are you wearing those medallions? They are of the _Christian_ people," he muttered in disgust.

"Oh, so we can take their treasures, but we cannot wear them? I don't care what Gods they came from—I think they look lovely," I retorted, my temper flaring slightly. His eyes narrowed into thin slits and his nostrils widened considerably in anger.

"And _who_ do you mean to look so lovely for? Not that you do," he commented slyly. I felt a sharp twinge of hurt seize my chest. He wasn't finished, "And who would have you anyway, a _Christian_ whore who adorns herself in her White Jesus—"

 _Smack_.

I pulled back my right hand to look at it in shock. When had I gotten so close to Ivar? And why had I let my emotions take over me so freely? Just a moment ago, I had been across the room. Now I was squarely in front of him, scanning my limb for the source of its traitorous action.

Oh Gods, I had just slapped Ivar. I paused for a moment and then looked up into his face. He brought his head back around after allowing it to remain turned to the side for several seconds. He rubbed his jaw leisurely while gazing at me from under hooded eyes. Was he not angry with me?

Just like that, he shot his hand out to grab my wrist—the one I had slapped him with—and drew me in closer. He was so strong. I had known this, but now I was getting firsthand experience. I did not want to be here. This was why I never let my emotions get the better of me; it was dangerous. All of Siggy's instruction: wasted.

He lowered his face to mine until the space was so small I did not think I could breathe anything but his air.

"In what world would you think that was a good idea?" he questioned menacingly.

Should I answer him? Or was he being rhetorical?

"Ivar, I—"

"IN WHAT GODSFORSAKEN WORLD, HEL?" He bellowed while pushing against my arm to create distance just to draw me back in with a shake. I yelped for lack of control.

I looked up into his eyes to face the beast I had created with my brash actions. They were filled with fury, and I did not know what he would do to me in this state. Was he capable of killing the one person he considered an ally? I was there when he killed another child in the village with an axe as a young boy, and he had merely been _playing_ then. I shook at the thought of an axe buried in my skull. I was far too young, too unaccomplished to leave this world.

As I looked up at his face contorted in anger, I felt an ice-cold grip take the wrist he did not have possession of. I peered down, sure that there was a hand there, but I saw nothing. Though, surely, I felt the five fingers of a hand there. I had no idea what to make of it.

All of a sudden, it seemed as though whatever had control of my hand, reached into my mind to give sight of what must be done. I had to console him. For what I had done by slapping him. For what he thought I would do that night, dressed up as I was. For all the ways in which his mistrust continued to slip into the cracks at the foundation of our relationship. I had to provide relief.

I moved my left hand up so that my fingers were held aloft to the side of his face. At first, my touch was tentative, and Ivar looked as though he would back away in a hurry. But he remained in place as if whatever force had motivated me to touch him was the same one keeping him locked to the spot. Once I saw that he would not move, I pressed my palm fully to his face and allowed the smallest of smiles to grace my lips. The next words that I spoke were otherworldly and not my own, though I felt I had consented to their use.

"Ivar, I'm sorry for what I have done. I did not mean to allow my anger to get the best of me. You deserve more than that," I spoke in a calm tone as my eyes searched his languidly, my mouth in a soft smirk, "What can I do to make it better?"

I'm sure he would have guffawed if he didn't feel the same cold, yet attractive force that I did. But I knew that he felt it too. And his next words were probably not his own either, though he let them be spoken aloud.

"You are mine. Forever. Play with who you want tonight, but you will always be mine."

His words caused a stirring in the low, dark pits of my stomach that shot straight down my legs into my toes. I wanted him so badly—whether by my own design or the Gods,' it didn't matter.

I craned my neck slightly upward so that our lips were completely level with each other, locked his eyes with my own, and eased my mouth onto his in frosty release.

To Hel with it all.


	5. The New King

Our tongues danced in the heated frenzy of competitors. I moaned loudly into Ivar's mouth as I felt my shoulders sag in relief. My hands began to snake their way up his torso as he wrapped his fingers in my hair and palmed the back of my head aggressively. I was sure my cheeks burned red—as red as the embers of the fire in the next room—but I couldn't be bothered to care.

It was war wrought with ecstasy of long-awaited release. It was everything I had hoped. All the things I knew him to be were wrapped up into his kiss and I was drowning in the madness of it all. I felt as if we were spinning in mid-air around the room and not the hand of Odin himself could strike us down.

But, alas, it did.

Ivar shoved me harshly away from him as his hand untangled itself from my curls. I felt a rush of unwelcome cold air. He kept me in place with his other hand at my waist and allowed his eyes to linger possessively on my lips. His mouth remained slightly parted in silent wonder for a few moments only to draw itself up into a practiced grimace. What had I done? What had made him change his mind about our union?

He brought his face closer to mine and for a beat I thought we would kiss again, but his countenance told otherwise.

"Go," he commanded quietly. His eyes flashed up to my own and ensnared them with his hateful stare, "Go and seek your company for the night, for the fortnight, or however long it may be. I will be waiting."

I opened my mouth to protest. It seemed as though the Gods' influences had left his body completely.

"And when you _do_ come back to me—because I know that you will," he cut me off, "I will make you regret ever leaving. Even just for one night. You will regret ever breathing in another man's direction."

Ivar took my stunned silence as an opportunity to remove himself from the table he was seated on and make his way back to the partition. I watched him move with the grace of the sea and envied him his poise after all that had just passed between us. He reached his hand up to draw aside the leather curtain, but not before turning his head over his shoulder and reminding me with a solemn promise,

"You are mine. Never forget that, Hel… Or I will personally see to it that you suffer." His silhouette passed easily through the curtain to disappear from my sight.

I gasped lightly. It was all too much. Everything that had just happened amounted to more emotional contact than I had experienced in the last eight years or so, and it certainly was the most volatile thing I had ever been through. Ransacking the monastery had been easier to bear than this. Things were so much simpler when you weren't emotionally involved. I pressed my open palm to the crook of my throat and breathed deeply in an attempt to calm my overused nerves.

' _Darling child, what is one of the main things I have taught you when it comes to failing?_ ' Siggy's disembodied voice soothed my troubled mind.

"Failure is a means to shore up our weaknesses—we need only use it to our advantage," I answered aloud between rapid breaths. So this was what she had meant when she explained the woes of warring amongst the shadows.

' _That is right, my sweet Hel. We will not always be victorious, pray to Odin though we might. You must learn from this, child. Do not let it defeat you again_ ,' her wise counsel rang clearly in my head.

But could I go back to the way it was before, where Ivar and I merely mingled as co-laborers for a greater cause and not as lovers? I would gladly be his if it meant we could harbor a platonic love as siblings do. I would do anything to feel the pressure of these emotions lifted from my shoulders—never to return—that I might focus on the way ahead.

My legs shook where I stood and I gripped the table to remain upright. I gazed brightly into the next room over and felt a compelling resignation fall into my soul. I would find my company, indeed. And I would not quake in fear at the prospect of it simply because Ivar the Boneless had threatened me. Who did that mindless boy think he was? We were equals! How dare he dictate my behavior.

Villagers were slowly meandering into the large hall and beginning to make merry amongst themselves. The laughter escaped their throats and curled its way up to the ceiling along the wispy tendrils of smoke from the fire. I had to join them soon.

I lifted my hand to my chest once more and slowly unhooked the two medallions, one by one. I laid them quietly onto the table Ivar had just been sitting on and smoothed my dress over with trembling hands. I breathed in and out in one long, steadying breath; sent a prayer to Freyja to grant me all the wiles of youth; and swept away into the next room over.

* * *

Hours had passed and to no avail. Though I circulated the room with a renewed coquettish ferocity, none of the eligible young men would take me for their own. Except for the overly drunk ones, but I was not in the mood for dealing with lumbering hulks that could not hold their ale. It was a night of wasted opportunity, and I had no one but Ivar to blame for that.

He sat next to the fireplace in the center of the room alongside his brothers and mocked me in silent laughter throughout the night. All of these men considered me his betrothed still, and no man would disrespect the Ragnarsons' honor by bedding a would-be bride. I almost abandoned my task a few times, too strung thin by his wicked observation, but I soldiered on. I could not allow him to win.

I soon noticed that my efforts were in vain yet again, as everyone's attentions had turned toward the center of the hall. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. There sat the five sons of the Dead King, drinking with their heads bent toward each other in fervent discussion.

"Well?" one aged warrior with graying hair questioned loudly, "Which one of you will it be?"

The boys broke their circle and leaned back with determined looks on their faces. Ubbe rose to his feet solemnly. It was now obvious from their actions what was transpiring before me—the Ragnarsons were announcing the next king. Ragnar was dead and that was that. Someone had to take over. Could it have been Ivar's turn already?

"People of Kattegat, hear me," Ubbe commanded authoritatively, "My father left our lands all those years ago, and now we hear he has been killed by a king from the land of Northumbria in England."

The North men let a collective growling murmur in slow-burning anger at what had been done to their King. Absent or not, he was Viking.

"I pray that he dines in Valhalla, the same as all of you," Sigurd jumped up to offer his own words. He waved his wine flagon appreciatively over all of the people in the hall, "But we have work to do. We must avenge our father's death."

The room erupted in shouts of agreement as cups slammed against tables. Ivar leaned forward menacingly fast.

"Who do these _English_ think they are that they can kill one of our own?"

" _Yae!_ " the room yelled together. Ivar drilled further into their fighting spirit.

"First these _Christians_ , who are worth less than a heap of _shit_ , kill our people on their shores. And now they do the same to our King! They must _die_. EVERY LAST ONE!" Ivar screamed at the top of his lungs, earning the approval of the entire hall. Villagers banged their fists on the wooden tables, screamed curses in the names of the Gods, and vowed revenge for their insulted kingdom.

"But who will lead us?" one voice broke through the cacophony of angered cries. Ivar smirked evilly to himself as he leaned back in his chair.

"I will," Björn stated simply, staring deeply into the pit of the fire as if it held some secret wonder the rest of the room had yet to discover. Ivar's harsh stare snapped over to search his brother's face. Björn raised his gaze slowly and without a care to the responsive crowd, "I will be your King."

The rest of the Ragnarsons nodded their heads once in agreement while Ivar made no move to show fealty or dissent. He merely continued to scan Björn's features in judgment. Sigurd jumped to his feet, raised his cup, and shouted,

"Long live King Björn!"

In my excitement, I repeated Sigurd's words at the top of my lungs and took a sip from my own cup, but I did not think the eldest son's name held the same menacing tone as his father's before him. I thought 'King Ivar' sounded a lot better. No matter. We would conquer many other kingdoms together. Kattegat was merely a sentimental notion at this point; it would be more useful as an ally than a base of operations once the campaigns began.

Glancing back to Ivar, I saw that he did not believe the same. He looked downright murderous staring steadily into the fire. No doubt he was planning some convoluted attempt to overthrow his brother. I could not forget that although he was smart—certainly more intelligent than most—he was no sage when it came to politics yet. Ivar preferred brash, open shows of power. I would have to teach him that there was more to gain from hiding one's plan of attack until the last possible second.

"My first act as King," Björn began languidly as he stood to his full height, "is to mount a full scale attack on the English lands."

The room burst forth with its loudest cry yet as men, women, and children alike showed their eagerness. England was quite the undertaking, but we always enjoyed a challenge. The newly crowned King continued on,

"We will not leave for another year or so at least, which is just enough time to make proper preparations. Floki," he addressed the aging boat maker. Floki's kohl-lined eyes danced with anticipation, "you will build us a great many ships. As many as you can find wood for." Floki giggled enthusiastically and I smiled to myself. That man was the happiest when he was serving the Gods with his boat making. He would be sure to mount the greatest effort any of the North men had ever seen.

"While our warriors train here, my brothers and I will travel to our neighbors to join in on this noble quest. I will go to the south, Ivar and Sigurd to the east, and Ubbe and Hvite to the north," Björn explained methodically. He began to move into the crowd a few steps at a time, greeting various warriors as he spoke, "It is our duty as the ruling family to provide you, our people, with enough men and supplies to win this war we ask you to fight. And I swear to Odin before you now, we will have our _victory_." One more giant cry and the festivities began to roll along. Everyone was too excited to exercise caution, and I could only watch lovingly from the side of the room.

I had learned my lesson about drinking around my people weeks ago when I had embarked on this fateful journey to begin with. Ale did nothing but embolden men's hearts and loosen their tongues—neither of which were safe acts by me. I would practice restraint tonight, a skill I was severely lacking of late.

At that moment, Björn padded his way softly over to me from along the edge of the room. I jumped slightly in surprise. For a well-known individual, he had the ability to blend into the shadows at will and avoid notice. I admired that about him.

"I did not mean to scare you," he stated as a means of apology. He kept his gaze focused upon the celebration before us. So composed.

"You didn't," I lied, attempting to feign the same amount of poise the giant of a man next to me had. It didn't suit me nearly so well.

We stood in silence for a few moments, and he looked to be mulling something over in his head. I was glad I had chosen to keep my wits about me this night—it seemed like I would need them.

"Will you join me?" he posed pointedly. What? My eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.

"To the south? To Hedeby?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which I supposed given the circumstances, it was.

Of course I would love to go to Hedeby with him! I missed Lagertha dearly, and I wished to see how she ruled her earldom after stealing it back from Earl Kalf. But why would Björn, King of the North Men, want me to go with him?

"And you don't care that everyone else here seems to think I am promised to Ivar?" I questioned honestly. For once in my life with someone other than Ivar, I wasn't pretending. It was a welcome respite.

Björn chuckled once to himself, "I am no fool, and I know how Ivar can be. You won't marry him." He sounded so _sure_.

I wish I felt the same. I peered down at my feet.

"What is your answer?" he pressed. His eyes flashed bright and blue as he waited for my answer.

"Of course I'll go with you, King. Nothing would make me happier," I responded breathlessly. Björn smiled broadly, clapped me on the shoulder with a lingering touch, and walked away.

I was excited to spend some time in Hedeby with my friend again as well as get some relief from Ivar's constant pull on me. The Gods could be a dizzying lot when they exerted their influence over mere mortals on a somewhat consistent basis. I could clear my mind in the rolling plains and tall mountains to the south. I would renew my strength and start fresh upon my return. This would be good for me _and_ for Ivar.

I would have the opportunity to study Björn's style of leadership and diplomacy—something I had not yet been privy too up until now. We would be spending quite a bit of time together on such a long journey, and I would take advantage of it for Ivar's sake. He had much to learn from his brother, the new King, but I doubt he wanted to hear that just then.

I took another long look about the room, deciding to end my night and ready myself for the journey ahead. There would plenty of time for merriment once our task was complete.

My eyes scanned the crowd of warriors, admiring each one in turn and thanking the Gods for such a group of faithful, strong people. I stopped dead, however, when I met the cold, inquisitive stare of Ivar. He clearly wanted to know the subject of my conversation with Björn just now, and I supposed I should tell him.

But it looked as if there were no need; Björn had already approached the center fire pit and addressed his younger brother distractedly. Ivar glared up at him with a meanness I knew I would have to use all of my years of practice not to visibly falter under. Björn made it look easy. I had much to learn from him.

After a few short sentences, Ivar raised himself up swiftly and hovered erect like a poisonous snake ready to strike. He whipped his iron cup across the room striking the far wooden wall with a pronounced _cling_.

"That is horseshit, and you know it, _King_ ," Ivar ground out harshly, making the title sound like an insult. Björn was unfazed by his outburst. This was not good.

I had to smooth this out with Ivar—he had to understand that this was the best way to divide our forces in order to cover the most ground and draw in the greatest number of resources. This was the smartest way. I didn't know how he could allow our separation to mean a betrayal. I would explain it all to him.

But the moment I moved my foot to take a step toward him, a sharp pain shot through my head. I clutched at it and sucked in a quick breath of air.

' _Don't,_ ' it was not Siggy's voice this time, but something deeper. More melodic. _Mischievous._ The sound of the single word echoed in my head over and over again until it was practically buzzing. A cold chill fell about my shoulders. This was the work of the Gods. Despite the pain, I felt blessed.

' _What would you have me do?_ ' I asked obediently.

' _Leave, my daughter. Do not speak to him before you depart—simply go,_ ' the man's lilting voice urged. This must have been Loki's advice, I was sure of it. How could that possibly lead me down the right path? He was the God of Mischief. How could I know if he was trying to trick me or not?

Hel's words of staying strong in my faith in the Gods took their turn to invade my consciousness. I did not understand how my abstaining from speaking to Ivar made sense in the overall grand scheme of things, but I trusted my creator's father. The journey never makes sense when it is first perceived, but slowly, after a great distance, one realizes she has been led correctly the whole time despite her blindness.

Instead of continuing forward to meet Ivar at the fire, I turned to my right and headed out of the doors of the great hall. The pain in my head subsided with each step toward the exit that I took. I heard Ivar growl out my name once in warning, but he remained silent after that. And strangely, I did not feel regret. I felt only fulfillment. This single act would influence our relationship for worse right now, but I felt the Gods had a plan to strengthen it in the future.

I snuck quietly out into the village and became one with the darkness, my heart sinking with each step.

* * *

I tossed fitfully in my bed unable to find rest from wakefulness. Though Loki's instructions were clear, I felt something had to be done. It was not safe to defy the Gods, but Ivar trusted me, and I couldn't let it all fall away without attempting to repair it.

For all I knew, he must've seen me as a conniving bed warmer, intent upon his newly-crowned brother. I shot up in bed at the disgusting thought. Despite Björn's royal status and his interesting leadership style, I still only found myself driven to serve Ivar. And it had nothing to do with our shared kiss. If anything, that had been a deterrent to our success. A deterrent that I did not want to transpire again.

' _That's a lie,_ ' I corrected myself. I sighed exasperatedly. Of course it was a lie. I wanted to feel Ivar's arms around my body and his lips on my own again and again until I learned to breathe without air. I really needed this trip to Earl Lagertha's lands in order to reacquaint myself with the self-preserving force of discipline. I could no longer be tormented by emotions running freely.

No matter. Regardless of what I wanted, I would go to Ivar this night and fix what I had done by leaving the hall without explanation. Divine intervention or not, he was the means to my end, and I could not let him slip away.

I stood abruptly from my bed but had to pause a moment before taking a step as I became incredibly lightheaded and my vision clouded over. I should've known not to move so quickly after laying in place for so long.

As soon as my wits returned, I stormed out of my sleeping area without so much as a thought to bringing some sort of cover up for my night dress. I did not mind it; I wanted him to see me with bare shoulders and full chest barely sheathed in white linen. My steps quickened.

I moved soundlessly to the great hall and made my way to the opposite end, careful not to sound the creaking wooden boards in the floor. He slept in one of the rooms further back from the Queen's chambers, and I found myself at the entrance to his room in a few short moments. I pulled aside the heavy leather curtain and made my way inside.

There he lay, legs bound in their usual trappings and his body facing away from the doorway toward the wall. How easy this would be if I had come here to kill him while he slept.

I tiptoed to the edge of his bed and knelt down closer to his head and watched his breathing for a while. I studied the way his mouth fell open just so and how his eyebrows creased slightly in the middle. He was so beautiful and so peaceful. So different from his waking self.

Knowing I had to bring this quiet moment of inspection to an end, I placed my hand lightly on his shoulder. In a half an instant, Ivar whirled around to face me, his blue eyes flashing wildly. His right hand shot out to encircle his agile fingers around my neck, and my breathing instantly became ragged. What was he doing? Did he not recognize me?

I smacked his arm more than a few times in an effort to get him to snap out of it, but his eyes remained unfocused. I was losing air quickly. I had to conserve it like Floki had taught me. I calmed my breathing as much as was humanly possible and prayed for the Gods' intercession. Maybe this was why the God of Mischief had told me to stay away; he knew I would die in some form or other if I tried to approach him.

No. This was senseless. I was not some waif who didn't know the basics of protecting oneself. I was not good enough for full-fledged battle, but I knew enough to make an escape when the situation called for it. If he could not remove himself from Niorun's clutches, then I would have to do it for him.

I seized his wrist at my neck with my left hand and pulled him closer to me as I shot my right fist forward to make direct contact with his cheek. Nothing so harmful as to break any bones, but certainly enough to wake him up fully.

Ivar immediately released my neck, moved both hands to protect his sore face, and let out a gruff moan of pain. I waited patiently for him to collect his senses.

After a few moments, he moved his hands down from his face and appraised me scathingly.

"I should kill you for that," he seethed. I allowed the tiniest smirk to grace my lips while I looked up at him from lidded eyes.

"Could you though?" I egged on his ego and moved so my upper body hovered over his. This was a huge deviation from the original intended topic of conversation, but I didn't mind in the least.

His eyes searched my own without offering an answer, looking for any hint of deceit—any reason not to trust me. He would not find it.

"I have come to make right what you think I have done wrong, Ivar," I steered him back to the topic that must be discussed before I left. His countenance visibly darkened at the mention of my impending departure.

"I understand," he began in a sinister tone, "one son of a Dead King looks promising, so you follow in his stead until another one of us proves more successful. You are a regular wh—"

"I will stop you there before you say something that you regret," I cut him off before he could go any further. His eyebrows rose sharply. Misconception was one thing; mudslinging was another. I would not tolerate either from him.

"I have no intention of following Björn out of some misplaced notion of grandeur. I must go with him, don't you see, Ivar? For the sake of our success in this journey, you and I need to spread our influence as far as we can make it go, and we cannot do that when we constantly refuse to part ways for fear of betrayal." I could see that my explanation was having an effect upon him. He was becoming quicker to trust me when we had our disputes. Unfortunately, I felt we would have much more practice in the future resolving them.

He continued to look at me with wide eyes and a downturned mouth. Even his stupors (rare though they were) proved to be attractive. I felt myself being pulled in. In his silence, I pressed on,

"Let me prove my fealty to you over the great distance between Kattegat and Hedeby," I vowed as I brought my lips closer to his, "Let me show you how loyal I can be."

I had to admit, I was severely dialing in on the seductive side, but I felt it came naturally at the moment. And before I could close the distance between us, Ivar's eyes took on a pained expression while his teeth ground together and he drew his eyebrows down, almost as if he was angry with himself for feeling whatever it was that chose to occupy his emotions. He brought both hands up to grab my shoulders and pulled me down even closer, and my eyes shot open wide at the unexpected movement. He paused before our lips could touch.

"I will miss you," he whispered in a somewhat strangled voice. He drew me in to press our mouths together harshly and I responded fervently. Our connection only lasted a few moments until Ivar pushed me away to relinquish any contact and turned over again to face the wall.

This had been the only time in my life when I had seen Ivar admit defeat. I understood perfectly well that he did not want to address what had just happened, and so I schooled my features back to a look of self-possessed tranquility, moved toward the door, and exited swiftly.

The walk back to my room seemed longer than the one prior, yet I ensured I maintained the same silence of movement as before. Once by my bed, I sank heavily down into the soft furs and looked longingly at the ceiling.

"I'll miss you too," I breathed out into the darkness.

* * *

Young warriors and shield maidens practiced their valuable skills for hours at a time as a means to burn off the anticipation of the great undertaking in England to come. We could not, however, leave until the next summer as there were boats to be built, earldoms to be visited, and supplies to be gathered. They would all bide their time until the Ragnarsons released them onto the unsuspecting English; I had no doubt in my mind that we would be triumphant.

I watched the goings-on of the village center from my place atop the adjacent hilltop, though I could barely concentrate on their movements. I toyed with the onyx Hel stone between the fingers of my left hand absentmindedly. I had wished to see Ivar one more time before my parting, but it did not appear it would happen. I allowed my thoughts to flash to the night before.

It had been fully worth it to feel the reparation of my relationship with Ivar. Despite Loki's instruction otherwise, I realized I had technically not disobeyed him. He had told me not to speak to Ivar before I departed. He had not specified whether that meant my departure from the hall that night or my departure from Kattegat in general. And I had waited until after my taking leave of the celebration in the great hall to speak to him. There was no way that I had done wrong.

' _What a clever one my daughter has made,_ ' Loki praised. He did not seem angry or displeased in the slightest.

It had all been a test! The God of Mischief had wanted me to prove my mettle when it came to my wits, and thankfully, I had passed it.

"That damned Trickster," I whispered reverently casting my eyes upward to see Björn moving along ahead of me. I readied my horse to get underway as I cast one last glance down at Kattegat for sentiment's sake.

There.

In the center of the village, held aloft by his own arms and head cocked backwards to look directly at me with piercing eyes that were too well-defined for such a distance. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt as if my heart had leapt into my throat.

A ringing started in my ears as Ivar lowered his head while narrowing his eyes. ' _Have your fun_ ,' he seemed to say. It was a reminder of what I was— _his_. One final warning before I left to prove my loyalty to him.

An odd nervous tension pricked its way in the center of my chest despite the excitement that surrounded it and made the ringing in my ears grow ever louder. As much as I was trying to prove to him that he could trust me, could I trust him? Could I guarantee that he wouldn't abandon me without a second thought? Would he find someone else to—

"Hel," Björn called, putting an end to the ferocious ringing, "Are you coming?"

"Yes," I answered louder than necessary. I shook my head a few times to make sure it was back to rights. I lightly kicked at my horse's flank to get him moving.

With one final look back, I peeked at the spot where Ivar had just been only to find nothing. Nothing and no one.

I would see him again, and it would all work itself out. I trusted the Gods.

I spurred my horse on a bit more and quickly passed Björn atop his own horse.

"I don't know how you expect to get to Hedeby before winter if you insist upon riding at the pace of a snail!" I screamed in laughter over my shoulder as I tore through the open field before us. The bow and arrows strung along my back lifted freely off only to drop back down with each gallop. The healing and killing plants in each saddlebag did the same. I was prepared for whatever awaited us in Hedeby.

"That's how you want to play it?" Björn shouted as he shoved his heels into his horse's sides and took off to catch up, laughing in his own quiet way. I could only smile brightly at him as we continued to race.

This trip would be fruitful, I would make sure of it.


	6. Hedeby

Our horses raced each other for the span of one long field before the young king slowed down his own to a light trot.

"You have won, Daughter of Mischief," he joked, "I am no match for your trickery."

"No trickery here, King! You've just gotten slow in your old age," I laughed in delight.

"Old age? You're mistaken, girl. And you don't have to call me 'King' when it's just us two, Hel. I'm still Björn," he requested.

"Alright then, Björn," I conceded. For a moment we returned to the days when Björn and I were friends without conditions and I didn't feel a need to guard myself around him out of habit. A time when I looked up to him and he taught me more in his silence than anyone else ever did while speaking.

"Are you happy?" I asked frankly. He always had a disarming way of making me speak what was on my mind.

"To be King? Not in the slightest," he admitted without pause, "It was a heavy burden for my father and it took its toll. I am not so eager to see what havoc extending and maintaining a kingdom will wreak on me." He looked sorrowful for a moment as he gazed without focus into the distance. I believed he was meant to rule even if he did not particularly want to. He and Ivar both were well-suited to ruling, but at least Ivar desired it more than anything else. How would Björn fare if he couldn't resign himself to the duty that must be done?

All at once he remembered himself, "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious, nothing more," I recovered from my unforgiving thoughts.

Björn tilted his head and looked at me knowingly, "You were comparing me to my brother just now, weren't you?"

I would've fallen off of my saddle if I wasn't gripping the reins so tightly from sheer embarrassment at being found out. He _always_ had a way of sniffing out whatever I was hiding. No, I would not give up on myself so easily.

"What reason have I to compare you to Ivar?" I posed.

"I never said it was Ivar," he sprang the trap with my own words. I was failing miserably. It was like I'd never spent years of my life conquering the art of manipulation. I was the one being schooled all over again. This trip was truly opening my eyes to how much I had regressed in my tutelage from allowing trust to infiltrate my affairs. This was a new territory in my life I was navigating and I had to ensure that I found and destroyed all weaknesses I was unfamiliar with. Otherwise, I would not survive to achieve anything.

"Go on," I conceded in defeat.

"I know you may find him more _kingly_ now," Björn mocked, "I've seen how you look at him. I know. But I think you will come to find as time goes on that there are others more apt to the title."

He slowed his horse down to mine so that we were able to look at each other levelly. I had no idea what to make of what he was saying. In a way, I agreed. But in many more, I disagreed. I thought they were both equally fit to rule in different respects. How could I possibly compare the two? I looked away from his face and down onto the ground as I pondered the possibilities.

"Have I upset you, Hel?" Björn asked with only slight concern.

And just like that—it was as if Loki himself planted the most devilish of ideas into my head. Perhaps he had.

"I understand, Björn. The two of you are inherently different," I agreed. His eyebrows raised slightly in disbelief. I lowered my voice marginally to draw him in closer, "Will you show me how a King should be?"

Björn Ironside was quite extraordinary, but he was still just a man. And each man always has a fatal flaw. No man was immune to feminine charms—no matter how extraordinary he may be. I didn't know if what I would use him for, or if I would even use him at all. All I knew was that I had to get myself back to rights by perfecting my seemingly forgotten talents. The newly-crowned King was certainly a productive place to start.

* * *

The hills rose and fell before us as far as we could see, and for the first time in a long time, I knew what it was to feel small again. Snow-capped peaks loomed in the distance, and no matter how far Björn and I traveled, they never changed in size. Sól's ever-glow cascaded down from her chariot, driving herself forward in the never-ending pursuit of dictating the passage of time to mortals. Her brother, Máni, lifted his bright grey-stone gaze every night to return the favor in kind. How could I possibly feel like I could conquer such an indomitable world as this?

We watched the Gods and their underlings play every day and night for nearly two fortnights. Our seemingly endless time was spent in reminiscence of our childhoods in Kattegat as well as the new King's plans for his kingdom and the upcoming war. I always grew quiet when it came to talk of the future. Though I had grown up around this man, I did not know how much I could share with him yet. He seemed trustworthy enough, but there was something about Björn that I couldn't quite put my finger down on. He remained elusive in direct conversation like he wasn't fully revealing his true intentions; I could immediately tell from the outset of our journey that he knew far more than his brother when it came to politics. He had diplomacy skills to rival that of King Egbert, and that was no small accomplishment.

Though it had to be said that Björn could abandon all decorum without a moment's pause and be resoundingly blunt if he so desired. It was obvious in the way he had simply declared himself King of the North Men without so much as a word explaining why it should be him. He merely made it so.

He was a man of anomalies and contradictions—a force of nature to be reckoned with. He was so fascinating to observe and analyze to the point of obsession. I hung on his every word in our conversations throughout the journey and did whatever I could to keep the conversation going just so I could hear more of his mind.

"And how do you intend to conquer the Mediterranean Sea, King, if you do not know that it exists for sure?" I inquired in a taunting tone.

"Look at my father, Hel. He did not know what lay to the west, and yet, he sailed there anyway. You see how well off we are for it…even if it did start a war and end his life," he reasoned. He sounded slightly beaten as he recalled all that had transpired since his father's first journey to England some long years ago. He lowered his voice, "And do not think I didn't hear you. I told you to call me Björn when we are alone." He cocked his head and smiled to the side. So humble, that man.

The young king possessed every good quality his father had and then some. He had undertaken a winter's journey into the wilderness to prove himself a man when I was still a girl of nine out of sheer willpower. He had returned to the village self-sufficient, changed, _rough_. He made me feel safer when I was around him after that. Safe from everything the world could try to hurl at me.

When I wasn't sitting and mending with Siggy, studying English language and customs with Æthelstan, or scouring the forests with Floki, I was watching Björn. Spying on him was my way of bonding with him although Siggy preferred to consider it practice hiding in plain sight. I could practically dance intricate circles around everyone in the village, so I decided to focus my attentions on this trained young man. He had spent months listening to nothing but falling snow and could detect the faintest snap of a twig or the softest crunch of a leave. He could smell changes in the wind. He could feel movement in the earth that he could not see. He was not so easily snuck upon; it made him the perfect challenge.

I followed him from the great hall one early afternoon when the day star was high in her heavenly trek and most of the people of Kattegat were out and about. Blending into the crowd and between huts was the simplest task I had undertaken. I moved as smoothly as a feather blowing in the breeze. I was able to trail his movements to the outskirts of the village and began to incorporate the tree line into my path. I dove lithely from tree to tree, keeping him constantly in my sights.

' _Will we not stop until we hit the next earldom?_ ' I asked myself out of mounting frustration.

Not a moment after, Björn disappeared from my field of view completely. I craned my neck to see if he had changed directions but saw nothing. Gods, he was quick. I didn't know how I had lost him, but I did.

' _So much for becoming a master tracker_ ,' I heaved a great sigh. I turned around to set back the way I had come.

Björn stepped out from a tree to my right before I could take one step back toward the village. I screamed in surprise, all notions of concealment abandoned. He stood tall over me and looked questioningly into my eyes.

"Why do you follow me, Hel?" he asked unabashedly. I hadn't expected to get caught, so I had no explanation ready for him.

' _Think! Be quick-witted! Like Siggy taught you,_ ' I coached inwardly.

"I do not follow you. I'm checking some of Floki's traps," I retorted. I was quite proud of myself for preparing a viable explanation under that sort of pressure. Take that! I couldn't wait to prove to Siggy that I'd be a silver-tongued prodigy yet.

Not waiting for his reply, I began to walk away back toward home once more.

"Where are you going?" he questioned again—this time sounding amused.

"Back to Kattegat. What does it look like, Björn?" I responded, a bit more enflamed. This quick temper of mine. I would definitely have to work on it in the future if I expected to survive in this way of life.

"I thought you said you were checking traps," he recounted as he began to walk in the direction he was originally traveling, "I have not seen you check a single one yet."

Damn. He had known I was following him for a lot longer than I thought. Clearly I was not the expert at trailing people I had hoped I was. I flushed a bright red across my cheeks and up my neck to my ears. I felt like I was on fire from the embarrassment I felt at being caught.

"Mind your business, Björn Ironside!" I yelled childishly and took off running. I heard a low chuckle as I left.

' _I'll sneak up on him one day. I swear I will!_ ' I vowed to myself.

* * *

We reached the distant earldom after a full cycle of the moon's faces, and I was quick to welcome the respite from travel. I pulled my horse forward to gallop the rest of the plain that lay between us and the great hall of Hedeby while sending up a prayer of thanks to Odin for our safe journey.

Our approach signaled the attention of some of the village members milling about, and within moments, Earl Ingstadt herself exited the central hall to greet us ourselves. Once she saw it was her son and her friend that approached, her face changed from curiosity to a small smile. I knew that face. Though Lagertha's demeanor was always controlled, it was easy to read her in certain instances. Now, she was overcome with joy in her own quiet way. She was regal.

"Mother," Björn was the first to address her.

"Björn," she responded in kind and turned her head to acknowledge me with a bit more amusement in her voice, "Hel."

"Earl Ingstadt," I replied with a broad smile. Despite not having seen her for a few months, she remained unchanged.

"Come inside, tell us what brings you," she commanded and turned to head back inside the great hall. Always so quick to the point.

I dismounted my horse and tossed the reins haphazardly around a post situated to the side of the hall. By the time I had done a quick sweep of myself to ensure I was presentable, I looked up to see the King already making his entrance. I jogged lightly to match his pace. We entered the hall at about the same time to be greeted by only a few people who had managed to find work inside the Earl's hall. The rest were out tending to their farming and hunting. It was expected considering we had arrived before midday—much too early for any sort of gathering.

Lagertha gestured from her seat at the head of the room for us to sit nearest to her, "What brings you to Hedeby?"

"We come to ask for your help," Björn stated simply. Lagertha's countenance immediately shifted to one of concern. We had not even told her of the fight to come, and she wanted to be a part of it. She was Viking. She made no move to speak again and merely waited for her son to continue.

"The English have killed Father. King Egbert confirmed it. We mean to make war with them and conquer their land to avenge him," Björn explained bluntly. Lagertha gasped lightly.

"I had always thought Ragnar would…" her voice trailed as her eyes moved rapidly back and forth across the floor. All at once, she seemed to remember herself. Her eyes snapped back up to her son's and her mouth set itself in a thin grimace.

"Who is King now?"

"I am."

Lagertha looked as if she would smile, but her grimace only became strained, "I am proud of you, my son. My King. You will be a good leader to our people."

"That is what I intend to do," Björn shrugged it off.

"In that case, we must have a feast. A celebration of the new King in Kattegat," she paused while looking meaningfully into his eyes, "And for our part in the wars in England to come."

Lagertha and her earldom would fight for us. That had been incredibly simple. How could I expect anything different? She was the mother of the newly crowned King and she would crush anyone who had killed her ex-husband. The hard part would come later—the planning.

"Thank you, Earl Ingstadt!" I piped up, overcome with excitement. She made me so proud to call her a true friend.

"And what brings _you_ to Hedeby, Hel?" she glanced between Björn and I in recognition, "Are you two married?"

My eyes widened in shock. Holy Helheim, no! Before I could respond in honest rebuff, the prickle of mischief tickled the back of my neck hotly.

' _Practice your forgotten skill,_ ' Siggy coached softly. I lowered my head until I could look bashfully at the ground and lifted my gaze marginally to look at the King. He watched me curiously. A blush graced my cheeks at this so perfect a moment.

"No, Earl," I spoke lightly, seeming out of breath, "We are not."

The King's body was looked like that of a voracious wolf. His shoulders bowed toward me slightly, his nostrils flared, and his eyes blazed. Everything about what I had just said I would die of happiness if he would pick me up over his shoulder and take me to a room to make me his wife right then and there. I had not been mistaken when I thought his lingering touch at the hall in Kattegat conveyed a longing. Perhaps I wasn't as out of practice as originally thought.

Lagertha let out a throaty laugh, "Your rooms will be prepared next to each other so you can sort out whatever it is that you two need to sort out." Her directness never ceased to amaze and inspire me. She walked a path of forthrightness that I never could.

Björn released the tension in his body and looked down at the floor and then back up to Lagertha, "Thank you, Mother." She bowed her head to her son and waved us off to ready ourselves for the feast that would be held in the King's honor that night.

The King and I moved to the rear of the hall where the additional rooms lay nestled away. As soon as we were out of sight of the main room, Björn grabbed my arm and slammed me into the wall. What in the—?

"You make a show of having feelings for me," he spoke into my face, leaving me no room for escape, "But I know that you are in love with my brother. I will not partake of whatever game you would have me play." He released my arm and stepped back a few feet.

How had he found me out? I was sure I had made every motion as real as possible. I was transported back to the woods as a nine-year-old girl who thought herself a predator, but in all reality, was as far from lethal as she could get. He always figured me out. I would not give up so easily.

I snapped my head up to look indignantly into his eyes, "You know nothing of my feelings, _King_. I had hoped you would understand that." I moved away from the wall and squared up against his chest, "There is no show, there is no game, and there will certainly be no victor."

I was overcome with fury. Back to square one of inability to control my emotions. Great.

I took one calming breath as Björn scrutinized my every move, his eyes searching my face and lingering on my lips. Wait! That was it. He spoke so harshly because he was genuinely invested in me to some degree, and he felt he would be betrayed in some way or another. He was right. This was a game I was not willing to play with someone I valued so dearly in my life. I would only end up burning a bridge that I did not want destroyed at any cost. At least I was considering the end state again. My skills were returning ten fold for every misstep I took. Even though I found myself in this displeasing situation, I still felt a tiny bit of joy.

In one instant, I switched the entire tide of the conversation by sweeping upward to embrace him in a light hug, "Let's do what we came here to do—provide for the North men. We will talk about other things later." I released him gingerly and turned to find my room down the hallway.

Björn's hand shot out to seize my wrist before I could take a step. He spun me back around and into his arms once more. He grabbed the back of my head and brought me closer into his embrace until our faces were less than a hand span apart.

"And we will talk about it," he hummed. He moved his face even closer and hovered his lips over my own, "At length."

He released me, turned on his heel, and moved down the corridor without so much as a backwards glance. I would faint of excitement if I were a lesser woman. Instead, I straightened up and moved slowly in the same direction he had gone with the intent of readying myself for the celebration in my own room.

He had shaken me, but with every action I took, I felt my abilities returning. I was honing my skills all over again, and I felt more alive than before. I did not need to succumb to lust to feel successful. I could do it on my own.

I cast one spirited glance to the ceiling as a means of thanking the Gods. I would not be overcome so easily. They would see to that.

Before I could carry on with the task at hand, my vision clouded over until I could see nothing but darkness. The world had faded from my very sight and I was left fumbling along the wall. My breathing increased to the point where I grew dizzy from exertion. I was blind! What had just happened?

Just as I began to practice calming myself, my vision returned, but this time I realized it was not my own. There was a golden hue to my sight and the edges blurred in a dazzling shimmer.

I took in the place in front of my eyes and realized I was in a foreign hall. It was clearly of North men origin based on the structure and innards, but it was not Kattegat or Hedeby. There were furs lining benches clustered around tables throughout the room, and a raging fire blazed behind what I could only imagine was the Earl's throne to the front. Where was this?

I continued to search around until my eyes fell upon two figures in the dark recesses of the far corner. I moved tentatively closer to gain a better idea of who sat before me. One was a girl—no, a woman—clad in a dark purple dress. She sat whispering into the downturned ear of her companion, a scheming smile plastered upon her face. I knew that look. It belied the ignoble side of the skills I possessed. Warring in the shadows for one's own selfish purposes with no regard for those around them. She would bring destruction no matter where she went.

Her companion let out a wicked snicker at her words, and I wondered at his identity. He raised his head slowly until I could see his face without obscuration. I gasped loudly. Ivar.

His eyes snapped up as he scanned the room rapidly as though he had heard me but could not see me. The woman he was with remained unaware.

What was he doing? Had we not had a plan when we set out on this journey together? Hadn't things changed between us even slightly in his eyes? And now he sat here in whatever earldom he had traveled to in order to entreat them to join our task of vengeance, and he consorted with _her_? I had enough, I wanted to be gone from this ghost world.

"Take me back," I said aloud. Ivar's eyes whipped to ensnare my own. He could see me now. "I want to go back!" I screamed. He made a motion to grab his crutches as the world around me swirled into darkness once more.

I regained my senses in a heap on the floor of the hallway within Lagertha's great hall. I could not make hide nor tail of what I had just seen from the overwhelming ethereal nature of it all. The Gods had shown me Ivar's treachery from across the land. I would think on it later when I had some semblance of my wits back together.

In the meantime, I would make him regret what he had done.


	7. The Night Mare

My breathing was harsh and ragged as I clawed my way down the hall and into the large room that lay beyond. I was thankful Lagertha was gone from her throne, probably to ready herself for the night's festivities. It was a strenuous effort to keep myself upright from the crushing weight of the emotions bearing down upon me. He had betrayed me, or at least, he had come close to from what I had seen just now. I thanked the Gods that they would intervene so obligingly into mortal affairs. Without them, I would have no idea what was happening so far away.

What was he thinking? In all my straying, it had ultimately been for his and our benefit. What could he possibly be doing plotting with that _woman_? Her intentions were written all over her face. She would have him entirely—in all the ways that I did not.

I collapsed against one of the benches nestled in the center of the room, overcome by my defeat from afar. There was a blooming of panic in my stomach that threatened to ensnare my senses completely and drive me fully over the edge. I clung to the bench with every ounce of strength I could summon until my knuckles turned white. What could I do?

I would not succumb to this. I would not be defeated by someone who thought themselves higher than they ought. The Gods held _me_ in their favor. Not some upstart from the east with her eyes set on Ivar the Boneless. They would both pay. Only for now, it was Ivar's turn to realize what he had done. I would leave her for a day when it would truly satisfy me to demonstrate my talents. A day when it suited my choosing.

But what could I do from Hedeby? My eyes scanned the ground before me rapidly in thought as I gradually brought my breathing under control. This was why I did not share things with people—certainly not dreams and aspirations. I had trusted too quickly. I was only glad this betrayal had not come later when my life was in danger.

' _Think, Hel, think!_ ' I urged myself. Something that would make Ivar see the gravity of his actions and teach him that I was not some possession to be trifled with. Something to make him regret his misstep like nothing else. I wanted him to see he was writing off his most powerful ally and to _beg_ me for forgiveness.

Tears threatened to spill in frustration, but I blinked them back. He was not worth so effusive a display. I took one long breath and gazed deeply into the fire in the hearth.

' _Help me, Hel. He must learn,_ ' I pleaded internally.

A memory flashed in my mind.

* * *

Floki looked up from the large rock he crouched in front of to me, a serious look on his usually cheery face. The stone that lay on the ground in front of him contained a great number of drawn white lines. Floki must've just carved them with the knife he held in his hand.

For a moment, he looked as if he would pounce to hide the work that lay before him. When he saw that is was me, his expression relaxed a bit.

"What brings you here today, Hel?"

"Oh, nothing," I lied. He saw right through it, and the look he gave prompted me to go on, "I wanted to see what you were making." We both looked to the large stone.

"What are those?" I asked.

Floki giggled once, "Magic."

My entire countenance brightened and I smiled broadly, "Teach me, Floki! Teach me!"

His grin left instantly, "Hel, this is no game. This magic is very real and very powerful. Do you know why?"

"Why?" I asked, mystified.

"Because it is from the Gods themselves. This magic is their own, and so when we use it, they have no choice but to listen," he explained gravely.

"Wow," I admired, "It sounds dangerous."

"It is!" Floki barked out in laughter, and I flinched in surprise. He appealed my never-ending ambition, present even at this young age, "Do you still wish to know the power of the Gods?"

I looked up at him as seriously as I ever had in my life, "With all my heart."

He giggled, "Good. Now look here." Floki pointed down to the enormous stone slab on the ground with his knife and described every single character intentionally and thoroughly until I had learned them all. They were called _futharks_ , symbols of the Gods that possessed both meaning and sound. Each one stood for something in its own right, but could easily be combined with others to form the written word.

"But how are they magic, Floki?" I asked, confused. He smiled proudly at my budding curiosity.

"Merely written, they are sacred. But when combined with sacrifice, they become dangerous. That is the part that most people do not know," he divulged.

"What do you mean with sacrifice?" I couldn't help but ask. I had to know this secret.

"Stand back, my girl," he cautioned while using an arm to push me backward and away from the stone. Floki raised the knife he held high into the air.

"Floki, what are you—?"

I was cut off as he brought his hand back down rapidly and slashed himself across the arm. I screamed, but he made no motion to comfort me. He allowed his blood to flow freely over the giant slab of rock and knelt to smear it into the lines of the runes he had carved.

"There. Now it is done."

* * *

It was insane. I had not practiced the rune magic since that day. I had simply gravitated away from it. I was more set on tangible powers like poison and manipulation.

Then again, when had I ever been one not to partake because something as insignificant as lack of practice had tried to stop me? And at this moment, the only emotion I felt was rage. There was no fear of the unknown to be felt. I was invincible, and this holy magic was only a tool to be used.

A wicked smile broke out over my face as my eyes blazed with newfound purpose. I braced my arms against the bench and a slowly rose to my feet. I began to take measured, heavy steps toward the doors of the great hall, and when I reached it, I saw that darkness had begun to fall. Good. I could use the cloak of darkness to accomplish this task.

My steps guided me toward the hill that rose behind the rear of the village. I swiped a knife that was carelessly left on a saddle from its holster and continued to trek my way across the open landscape. Surmounting the hill was no difficulty because of the slow-burning rage inside my belly that spurred me on, and I felt no fatigue when I reached the other side of it. I selected a large rock that was well out of sight and was a bit freer of moss than the others that surrounded it. I practically leaped onto it in my haste, and when I reached it, I lay down to press the side of my face and arms to it. This stone would be the catalyst of my revenge, and though I would bring no death through it, I realized the gravity of my undertaking. The events that would transpire because of this rock and the Gods' magic were going to fundamentally change the course of my relationship with Ivar forever.

I couldn't _wait._

He deserved everything that was about to happen to him.

I lifted my head from the holy stone, drew the knife up to its surface, and began to scrape my feelings into its surface.

A straight line with a short diagonal one through it. _Naudhiz_. Need, unfulfilled desire, longing.

A small diamond. _Ingwaz_. The start of something new.

A straight line with two smaller lines drawn over it like an arrow. _Tiwaz_. Loyalty, justice, and sacrifice.

The name of the goddess of night, Nótt, glared selfishly back up at me. She and her mare would be my companions this night.

My breathing increased tenfold as I moved the knife up to complete the ritual.

' _Give me strength, Daughter of Mischief. I do this for Ivar to learn never to betray me again. It must be done,_ ' I prayed to my creator.

With almost no delay, the nervousness and anxiety I felt at slicing through my flesh was replaced by an otherworldly calm. I gazed blankly at the knife and brought it slowly down to make contact with my cool skin. I dragged it lazily across and felt my arm below give way. Only when I had made a long, clean cut did I regain my senses and feel the immense pain that came along with it. I gasped loudly and dropped the knife, but did not stem the flow. Instead, I held it over my work and closed my eyes in prayer.

' _This is the way,_ ' I repeated over and over again in my head. I tilted my head toward the heavens and breathed deeply, humming one long continuous note deep in my throat to keep myself going despite the pain.

A heavy wind picked up and swept my hair away across my face as I became lost in the feel of my spirit. The swirl grew faster and faster until a thought occurred that it might take me up and away with it, but I feared nothing. This was the Gods sanctioning my actions. They knew this must be done—it would all be worth it.

Feeling much calmer (more like numb), I pressed a kiss from my lips to the blood letters, stood from the place I had been kneeling, and began to make my way back to the village. The wind that had threatened to carry me on high died down. The knife lay abandoned in the pool of blood it had created. A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips, and I walked as if in a daze.

Now all I had to do was allow the runes to work their magic and grant me the power I needed to wreak havoc later on. I intended for Ivar to be asleep when I took care of him, and I knew that would not happen for some hours still.

I had told Ivar of the incredible things we could achieve when we worked together as a team.

I let out a wry chuckle. Now he would see what would happen when he crossed me.

* * *

The party passed in a dream-like haze. I was physically present, but my mind was not. I talked with the villagers of Hedeby and sipped slowly at my ale, but who could concentrate for long when the biggest undertaking of one's life was about to transpire? I frequently found myself staring off into the fire or at the ceiling as I imagined all of the power at my fingertips. This magic was going to be dangerous; I couldn't wait.

"What is wrong with you?" Björn appeared at my side, his own flask in hand. He stood tall and eyed me warily as if I would bolt at any moment. Silly King. I was far from afraid.

"Nothing, King," I deadpanned. After a few moments of silence, I lifted my eyes to look at him. He stared inquisitively as if he did not believe me. He was correct not to.

"There is nothing the matter with me, Björn, I assure you. I merely have found a better occupation for my time that does not involve drinking 'til all hours of the morning," I elaborated. The King sat down with a heavy sigh.

"You do not fool me, you know," he teased.

I looked up to stare him deeply in the eyes. Normally, I would be quick to reveal my troubles to him, but with my trust so recently shaken, I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

' _Though I could spare him some morsel_ ,' I supposed.

"It truly is nothing," I promised, crossing my arms over my chest, "Or at least…It will be soon."

Björn cocked his head and narrowed his eyes in discernment, "And what does _that_ mean?"

I couldn't bear his scrutinizing stare any longer. I had to do this, and I knew if I told him of my plan, he would only offer more questions that I wasn't ready to answer. I stood solemnly and squared my shoulders in a show of strength because that's all it was: a show.

"It will be alright, Björn. I'll see you tomorrow," I finished the conversation. He rose as if to follow but remained in place instead. I shot him a smile over my shoulder as a way of halfhearted reassurance, but he saw right through it. I didn't care anyway. I had other much more important matters to attend to.

I slinked easily away from among the merrymakers and turned down the hall toward my room. The anger from before returned, only this time it was much sharper in its sensation. It was as if the hideous sight was freshly seen and I was feeling these mortal heart wounds anew. I never wanted to feel like this again—put aside, useless, _unwanted_.

I swayed slightly with the weight of the emotion that gripped me and had to put a hand against the wall to steady myself. I was physically ill from how this _boy_ had made me feel. How I had allowed him to make me feel… Never again. Not unless he cut out his own beating heart and offered it up to me on a plate of gold. He had no idea what he had done. I would show him.

I could wait no longer. I walked determinedly to my room, removed my shoes, and laid down quietly in bed. If only anger were a suppressant, I would have fallen asleep instantly. I was so inflamed I could do naught but stare furiously at the ceiling.

' _Calm yourself, child_ ,' Siggy cautioned, ' _You will get nowhere with that temper of yours._ ' That did absolutely nothing to lessen the pace of the blood flowing through my veins. This woman could only teach me so much. She had to realize—dead or not—her voice could be more of a detriment than a help sometimes.

"Enough!" I shouted to the empty room. My mind remained quiet in response. I shifted to a more comfortable position resting my one hand across my stomach and the other straight down my side as I lay on my back. Dealing with the dead was no task for me right now. I had to look to an even deeper source of strength.

' _Hel, my wondrous creator, grant me a sleep to rival the dead. I cannot do it on my own,_ ' I begged.

True to her faithful nature, my Goddess gave my spirit a calm like it had never known before. My limbs released the tension that had steadily grown inside of them since first learning of Ivar's treachery and my face relaxed until the grimace that had previously occupied it was gone. My eyelids fluttered closed in glorious ignorance to the world.

' _I send my soul up to you, Nòtt. Sister mine. Take my spirit on your mare of night to the faraway place from which my anger stirs. I have offered you my blood and love; now offer me your power._ ' I imagined my entreating words floating on a guided breeze up to the goddess of the night sky. Higher and higher they climbed, and I was with them. My words were my spirit sent on to carry out my purpose.

Even faster I flew until the clouds were the ground and I saw a black horse carrying a beautiful woman whose black cloak spread out for a ways behind her. _Nòtt!_ I was hurtling toward her faster than the lightning of Thor's hammer, and I did not know how to stop. Closer and closer I sailed. I thought surely she should have seen my spirit flying toward her and put up a hand to stop me. Didn't the Gods possess powers beyond all reason? How could she not—

Her head whipped around in a floating mass of pitch black hair that framed wide, piercing white eyes. Her skin was ghastly pale and ashen where it wasn't covered by the soft black cloak she wore. I didn't have the opportunity to shriek in surprise before she spoke in a light, whispering tone, "Daughter of Mischief, I have been waiting."

Her dark horse whipped its head agitatedly as if to get her attention.

"You are right, Hrímfaxi. We must keep time," she cooed while reaching down to pat his mane. She then extended her hand to me. Did I have a body still? I glanced down to see that, indeed, there was what appeared to be a human form only less tangible. It was similar to how I imagined Siggy in my mind's eye now that she had passed.

Yes! It had worked! I knew Floki couldn't teach me wrong.

"Thank you, Goddess. You are too gracious," I breathed. Nòtt lowered her head to look me in the eye to inquire after my desire. I did not allow her to wait long before replying, "I am ready."

Her icy cold hand snatched mine and a shiver ran down my spine. Strangely, I found it comforting. She was carrying me forward toward my goal; I was ecstatic above all.

We soared over wide swaths of land in a matter of seconds to cover a journey that should have taken at least a fortnight. Máni shone from his high platform and the stars twinkled with delight at our passing. This was amazing. I couldn't help the startled laugh that escaped my throat. Only the North Gods could show me wonders such as this. The Christians were so distant from their one God. It was sad; they would never know this surreal happiness. Magic was not something they used because they thought it to be of Hell. Poor things.

Nòtt nudged her mare and soon we were descending as rapidly as we soared. The ground came rushing up, but I knew she would not let us fall. Mountains began to rise up around us, and I could finally see the focus of our descent—another great hall situated in the center of an unknown earldom. I knew instantly this was Ivar's resting place. The place where he had conspired with that _woman_.

A pang of jealousy shot straight through my chest, and I had to concede my intentions were not wholly pure. Though eventually my actions this night would set our relationship on a hard right. It would be good… Eventually… Perhaps. I did not care anymore. I wanted him to hurt like I hurt. My face took on a grim set once again, and I was forced to stare unflinchingly into the woodwork of the roof where my target slept.

Hrímfaxi trotted gingerly onto the rafters, and Nòtt relinquished her frosty grip on my hand to set me on my way. I looked up to her white and black features and placed my hand softly upon her horse's mane.

"I cannot thank you enough, Goddess. I set my deeds this night to your name," I vowed softly. My voice was still not fully there; it was my spirit's voice. Quiet, yet powerful.

"Do not be afraid. This must be done. For you… and for the Gods," the deity affirmed delicately. Nòtt smiled, looked up to her throne in the night sky once more, and kicked her steed in his flanks to coax him back to flight. I watched her go for a few moments, but swiftly turned around to the task at hand.

I descended through the earthly barrier of the ceiling into the room below by simply wishing it to be so. If only my regular body had this ability—I would be the most successful warrior out of sight.

Not by mistake, the goddess of the night had left me exactly on top of Ivar's chamber, and I looked down onto his sleeping form. I had half expected him to be in bed with the woman I had seen him with, but he was alone. His peaceful eyelids hid the burning blue-green flames beneath, and his mouth was parted slightly. I didn't realize until now how much I had actually missed him. I knew that I would, but I hadn't allowed myself to feel it. I reached my hand out to make contact with his soft cheek. I just wanted to touch him, be near him, to know the way his skin felt under mine. For a single moment, I reconsidered my mission.

' _No. I spilled my sacred blood for this. I will not back down now. Otherwise he will not learn,'_ I reminded myself somewhat ruefully. This was my choice. I was here now. Nòtt herself told me it must be done. I was set on it.

This magic was intuitive, and I instinctively knew how to go about my aims. I reached out again—this time in determination, not yearning. I placed my open palm squarely over his smooth face and pushed down so that it would sink into his head. I was as tangible as a ghost; he did not stir at all.

As soon as my wrist made it to the bridge of his nose, I found myself falling again. Only this time I was falling into Ivar's mind to where his dreams lived. This place would be the breeding ground for my revenge.

The world spun around me once more, and when it took on a structured form, I saw that I was somewhere foreign. It was plain to see that this countryside was much more open and free of mountains than Kattegat or any of its neighboring earldoms. In the distance, a spire could be spied rising above a cluster of treetops.

' _England,'_ I thought to myself in amusement. Of course Ivar would dream about the conquering to come. Although now I was here to show him that I would not let it happen if he chose to forsake me. I was worth more than all of England and its puny castles put together. I was worth more than he could ever hope to attain. I ground my teeth in frustration and looked around for the foolish boy.

An army of North Men sprang from the distant trees and came barreling into the field in my direction only to halt a few moments later. I could tell they were waiting for someone: their leader. They raised their swords and spears and shields above their heads and made all the noises of Giants and Gods at war. It would have been terrifying to anyone who wasn't of their kind; it was marvelous to hear.

Another cry rose behind me, and I turned to see an army of Englishmen in their suits of armor and chain mail. I snickered at the weak display. The North Men outnumbered them one to five. We would have victory this day.

Wait. This was not real. I had to remember this was Ivar's dream, and I could not let him live out his desires. Where was he?

I rotated back toward my people and scanned their ranks. From the front and center came a horse-drawn carriage with a single rider. There he was—ever the showman. He looked dashing with his leather suit and protective helmet. I wondered what held him up to look as though he were standing. He raised his sword in front of his warriors and made ready to unleash them onto the Christians. He opened his mouth to scream the advance but stopped dead when he saw me standing in the field.

In an instant, the scenery and its inhabitants faded away to nothing, and I was left standing in the darkness with Ivar dressed as he normally did in Kattegat. Except now he was standing. It would only make sense that he could walk in his dreams. It gave him an added feral quality as he stalked closer to me, his head lowered in scathing survey, and his mouth drawn up in a snarl.

Now was the time to strike.

"What are you doing here?" he rasped out. He knew what he did, I could tell. The little snake. It only fueled my cold fury.

"I have come to remind you of something, darling Ivar," I taunted. I drew my hands upward about me and raised up a scene of a castle throne room through willpower alone. I used King Egbert's luxurious fortress as inspiration, and there were hints of the King of Wessex's influence throughout. The throne at the front of the room sat atop a set of stone steps and mindless subjects milled about dressed in the latest English fashion. Fools.

Ivar studied his newly-erected surroundings and did his best to conceal the look of confusion he wanted to display. He was trying to figure out my play. He would know soon enough.

"Look about you, Ivar. Take it all in. Imagine what it is like to know that this kingdom—and many others like it—are yours," I purred. Ivar couldn't help the smirk that stole over his features briefly. I had him snared in the trap I had set. Now I just had to spring it.

I gestured lavishly to the throne covered in colored fabrics and the bejeweled crown that lay tidily on its armrest, "Why don't you take it, Ivar?"

He almost leapt to snatch the throne and its crown, but something inside him must've halted him in place because he refused to budge. Smart man. Even in my rage I could admit that. Slight change of plans then.

"You don't want it?" I egged him on, and still he hesitated. I began to pad my way over to the throne, mimicking a regal air. I spun in front of it and lowered myself down quickly, "Oh well, it's mine then."

Ivar's eyes widened in bewildered indignation.

' _Oh, foolish boy, I'm just getting started,'_ I snickered to myself.

"Or, at least, it will be," I continued mockingly as if speaking to a small child, "If you cross me _ever_ again, Ivar the Boneless, I will make you regret it. You know nothing of suffering…Yet."

I threw up my hand in dismissal and shouted to guards I knew I had placed along the walls of the large room, "Have his head cut off and brought to me."

"WHAT?!" Ivar screamed in sheer fury. The men in armor moved forward to seize him by the arms which made him thrash about like a fish snagged in a net. It was all I could do to keep from laughing aloud at the display. He was roughly dragged from my sight as he shouted obscenities left and right. Not a few moments later his head was brought in freshly severed. The passage of time while inside one's dreams was certainly a lot quicker than actual time.

One of the guards held Ivar's head aloft by his long hair as bright, red blood dripped from the clean cut at his neck. I stared gleefully at his current state. He was fine, but he didn't know that.

I changed the environment in the blink of an eye to a large open road lined with many buildings on each side, again in some foreign land. Townspeople gathered on all sides and jostled to have a turn to look at their passing queen—me.

Ivar's head regained its body, and he was seated next to me in the carriage we rode in.

"Open your eyes," I whispered into his ear menacingly.

His eyes snapped open though they were certainly wearier now. He was catching on to our little game of cat and mouse.

"Listen, Ivar," I instructed him, "What do the people say?"

He begrudgingly listened to the chant of the crowd as it grew ever louder, _Long Live the Queen! Long Live the Queen!_ I allowed the slinking English tongue to make sense to his North ear, and once it did, his eyes looked deeply into mine. I loved the hint of betrayal that peered outward from them. Now he was understanding what I had felt.

"That is right, _boy_ ," I spoke scathingly and without remorse, "I can do all of this without you. You were nothing to me until I decided you were worth taking a second look at. _I_ decided."

He masked his emotions so well, but I saw what he did not wish me to see. The confusion. The sadness. The angst.

All at once, I couldn't stand to look into his hurt, inquiring eyes anymore. I had been the one to let him in, to trust him openly and without reservation. It was all _my_ fault. I held him accountable, but I was letting myself off too easily at the same time.

I willed another scene to replace the one before us. One where Ivar was the one who sat atop a solitary throne surrounded in darkness. I was his subject at the foot of the steps that led to his majestic seat. My garments from the day before looked tattered and worn like I was a beggar. I kneeled down in a slump on the floor and folded my hands in my lap. My eyes were cast downward—the perfect picture of a Christian saint. Except I was not acting this time. My emotions were real. Ivar always seemed to bring the honesty out of me, regardless of whether I wanted it to be revealed or not.

"Ivar," I called and lifted my face. Tears threatened to spill at any moment. Still he spoke not a word as I continued, "What have I done or not done to show you that I'm real with you—with _only_ you? I'm not after anything but what you're willing to give."

"You attack me in _my_ dreams, you betray me in _my_ own mind, and you expect me to trust you?" he seethed when he finally spoke. His shoulders hunched in his show of disgust.

"That's just it, Ivar," my words of defeat caught him off guard, and his face slackened as he listened intently, "You never really did trust me." The tears didn't stop this time, and they rolled down my cheeks in sad trails as I laughed bitterly.

"If you had trusted me," I soldiered on at him, "You wouldn't be sat here with some woman who wants nothing but to use you for her own selfish purposes."

"And you claim you do not to want the same," Ivar retorted sarcastically and rose to march down the steps from the throne.

The frustration all at once with him was overwhelming, "But I don't! I want more, I want it for our people, I want it for _us_!"

"You _left_ me!" he yelled, revealing the source of his hurt at last.

I let out an infuriated snarl and closed the distance between us. I snatched up the walking Ivar's collar with both hands and pulled him in close so that our faces were only a few inches apart, "I did that for _you_. Everything I have done has been for you. Can you not see that?"

I released his shirt in anger and moved away a few paces. This had certainly not gone as I expected, which was quickly becoming the case with this Ragnarson.

I raised an accusatory finger in Ivar's face, "Let the Gods show me one more wayward act on your part, Ivar the Boneless, and I will _ruin_ you."

He watched me from across the space I had created for a few moments, taking in the sight of me before him. In a few short steps, Ivar snatched up my head between his hands and brought his lips down onto my own. I couldn't say I was upset in the slightest. I let out a strangled moan of long-awaited release and clutched at his back for dear life.

We stayed like that, locked in desire's combat for several long moments, and I died little deaths of ecstasy. I missed everything about him—his temper, his smell, his wit. Ivar ran his hand once over my hair and pulled back. He looked from my face to the ground and back up again, "I trust you."

I looked back at him in shock. In our culture, one's words were fact. There was no taking back something once it had been spoken aloud. In that instant, the tears stopped. My soul felt pure and easy. Everything would be alright with us, I knew it.

I didn't even have a moment to enjoy the sensation as a sharp, nauseating pain tore into my stomach and caused me to gasp harshly. I glanced down to see Ivar's hand wrapped around the handle of a knife, twisting it around as my blood seeped from the wound. The pain was excruciating, and I felt I could breathe less with each passing second.

"I will see you very soon," Ivar stated simply, placing a kiss once upon my lips and again upon my forehead. The world around me was engulfed in darkness.

* * *

My eyes fluttered open and I rose from the flat surface I laid upon to take in a large gulp of air. I felt a hand on my back and peered to my left to discern the owner—Björn.

"What—happened?" I asked between gasps for air.

"You were speaking to someone in your sleep, and then you began to scream," the King answered. Once he seemed to be sure that I would be fine, he narrowed his eyes and brought his head closer, "That wasn't any regular dream. That was the night mare's work of Nòtt. Hrímfaxi only visits when terrible things have been done," he paused once more to increase the intimidation he exuded, "What have you done, Hel?"


	8. Garmsen

"Whatever could you mean, King?"

It was here in my moment of sheer and unrelenting panic that I found the will to grip the Norns by the necks once more and steer them back on path. I had just awakened from a vengeful sleep, of which Björn's very own brother had been the main subject. The Ragnarsons did not seem terribly close but I doubted their bond could be so easily transcended by an outsider. Not at this point in time, at least. The future was always open to a great number of possibilities.

Björn clenched his jaw in uncharacteristic impatience. I took note and turned my cheek to analyze the detail of the wooden wall, my gaze set blankly before me. He would divulge no secrets from me.

"I will allow you one more chance to explain," he warned lowly.

I cocked my brow to answer him snidely, "How am I to know the workings of the Gods and their companions?"

Part of me didn't want to contain the laughter such a statement inspired. If only the man before me knew the goings-on of this night, he would _worship_ me. I would have a hard time believing it myself if it weren't for the lingering pain that radiated outward from the center of my belly in dull, ebbing pulses.

"I am no fool, girl," Björn grabbed my shoulders roughly and shook me once. His countenance switched from that of irritation to desperation, "It is important that you tell me what you have done—not just for your own sake, Hel."

His shift in demeanor was disconcerting to say the least, and my hard exterior cracked under the pressure. What did he mean by that? My eyebrows furrowed and my lips pouted in puzzlement.

"Why, Björn?" I questioned cautiously, dropping all semblance of decorum. He stared deeply into my eyes, attempting to discern any sign of duplicity. I froze my features in place under his scrutiny. He apparently came to the conclusion that I had no hidden agenda because he sighed heavily in resignation.

"What do you recall of your parents?"

* * *

Ivar woke up instantly and sat up forthright covered in a cold sweat. He padded with his palms the bed around him to ensure it was truly there and would not slip away like so many of the scenes in his dream just had. His breathing was ragged and echoed hoarsely through the chamber. It only slowed when he concluded resolutely that the room around him would remain where it was.

 _'Damn that woman,'_ he thought harshly.

What in the Nine Realms was that? There was no doubt in Ivar's mind that there was some sort of magic to blame for what had just transpired in his not-so-dreamlike dream. Being a son of a woman gifted with premonition, he was no stranger to the supernatural. And he would certainly not be so close-minded as to believe it had been strictly the Gods' powers manifested in Hel's form.

Of course not. Hel herself had most likely been the one to conjure up that sort of spectacle—based on her extraordinary affinity for the divine and their apparent return of her sentiment. Ivar would have had to be a fool not to notice the actions she exhibited when under the Gods' influence. Odin Above, he had even experienced it himself!

It was as if all of the latent energy built up in Ivar's body during his slumbering state erupted at once and he shouted once in frustration. Even in his angered state, he had to appreciate the woman's ingenuity. She had seen him talking to Signe that night when Ivar had sipped too freely at the ale, not taking heed of his brother Sigurd's warnings to pace himself to last through the evening's festivities without being carted off to his room. Never one for listening, Ivar had pressed on steadily, imbibing more and more ale. The sultry blonde woman had sauntered her way up to his place near the fireside only after Sigurd had left it, he noted. He may have been under the influence of the Gods' drink, but he was no fool.

The conversation had begun pleasantly enough with Signe coaxing information from Ivar concerning his home in Kattegat and his upbringing. She mostly fixated on his father, the Absent King, and showered endless praise upon his exploits. She really was a dull creature. But a conniving one nonetheless.

She differed so greatly from Hel. Signe's aims were written all over her face, and it was obvious which tactics she would use to obtain them based on the small touches she planted on Ivar's arms and face. He would have swatted her away if he had been more concerned with it, but he had only been concerned with the humming liquid that raced through his body and the wide, green eyes that passed fleetingly through his mind's eye. Ivar was too drunk to feel the usual twinge of resentment Hel managed to lodge like an arrow in his chest.

"Ach," Ivar hacked under his breath and dragged his mouth into a snarl. He swatted at the air in front of him with his free hand as if to physically dispel the image that wouldn't leave his mind. The quick change in his position caused Signe to jump a little in her seat next to him, but he didn't care. He looked up to take in her features offhandedly. If Hel could abandon him to follow his brother—the _King_ —across the land to Hedeby, then maybe he could spend one night in the arms of this woman who was practically simpering with want for him. She would certainly be an excellent resource for relieving his frustrations.

But could he go through with it? Would Hel ever betray him with his brother? He thought he could trust her, but every day his belief in her faded even more. With no obvious solution in sight, Ivar did what he knew best: remain stubbornly where he was.

The crowd of partygoers steadily depleted around him, and he continued to sip his ale, only half paying attention to the woman beside him. Her talk of his father's conquests casually slipped to more intimate affairs, and soon his drink-addled brain could do naught but listen intently. She was describing a number of things that sounded quite pleasant, if not downright devilish. Ivar sat forward in his chair and allowed her to bend her mouth to his ear as she purred sweet promises into it. He would chuckle childishly every now and again in either surprise or admiration at the blonde's words. He had pegged her correctly, alright. He knew _exactly_ what she would do to claw her way to the top.

It was there in his reverie that he heard an otherworldly, disjointed gasp that sounded exactly like the source of his over-drinking. He had whipped his head up faster than he thought possible to find her. She had to be there, he _heard_ her. He searched the room swiftly, and then again to be sure. There was not a soul to be found besides Signe, who continued on unperturbed with her soft utterances and easy petting. What in the—?

"Take me back," Hel's voice stated in a panic. He locked onto the spot where she should have stood. A faint form began to materialize before his very eyes. It was like the smoke of a fire that had just been put out with water and continued to gain shape with every passing moment. Ivar made a movement to stand with his crutches and watched her fiercely. Only when the object of his disaffection stood fully in front of him did she speak again, this time in a yell, "I want to go back!"

She disappeared in an instant.

Ivar could not possible begin to explain what had just happened, but he knew the Gods had a hand in it. He was disgusted at having been caught in what would seem to be an unfavorable situation. Helheim, it _was_ an unfavorable situation. This _twit_ made him look like a desperate, white boy.

He shoved Signe messily away from him, grabbed his crutches, and removed himself from her unhelpful presence.

That had been how Ivar found himself in his current predicament. His dreams had been an outlet for Hel to make him sorry for what he'd done, and though it would take much more than having his head cut off for him to admit that he'd been wrong, he was somewhat pleased that she had been able to confront him so aggressively. Their interactions had brought a lot of hereto unspoken facets of their partnership to the surface. They might not have been able to talk about it all in the dream, but the gate was open. When they were reunited, Ivar would make sure that there was no stone left unturned between them. There was no more room for these foolish bouts of mistrust.

They would reveal every nasty little detail of themselves to each other. He would have nothing less.

* * *

His question caught me off guard, and I leaned back to take in his entire form. My parents? What could they possibly have to do with the night's transpirings? Puzzlement marred my features ever more.

"Truthfully, not much—why do you ask me this?" I dug deeper. Björn's features visibly softened and he let out a long sigh of frustration while shifting from his kneeling position on the floor to stand. He had made up his mind to not give anything further away, I could tell.

"Why do you ask, Björn?" I tried once more to gain information, this time pleading.

"You must talk to Floki when we return," he deflected. A bubble of indignation rose up in my throat.

"Oh, you cannot answer me now?" I seethed, my voice raising in volume. Who was he to bring up the parents I barely knew and then act as though the subject was beneath him? He should have known better than any other Ragnarson the shame I felt at having to be raised by the collective of Kattegat after my father died. I learned a great deal and had a never-ending supply of affection from Floki, Siggy, and the Queen, but I still knew something was missing. I was different because I was without parents; this was a fact that could never be discounted.

Björn looked uncomfortable but looked directly into my eyes after doing a quick sweep of the room around us. He was never one for avoiding discomfort.

"Hel, I must know. You don't have to tell me what you've done, but I at least need to know that you haven't done anything too rash," he reasoned. This only angered me further.

"You'd better go back to bed, King. I don't share secrets with those who don't return the favor in kind." I didn't wait for him to leave, turned over on my cot to face the wall, and shut my eyes tightly. I heard his footsteps make their slow retreat moments later.

I would address the issue with him in the near future, but now was not the time. He would not ruin my satisfaction at having accomplished my main purpose this evening. The Gods had shown me that I was more powerful than even I had known, and my body hummed at the possibilities. If I could do their holy magic, who knows what other gifts they might feel generous enough to grant? It was all at my fingertips—I was unstoppable!

But what had Björn come rushing in to interrogate me for? It was as if he had known exactly what magic I had invoked…and somehow my parents had something to do with it. But what? I had to remind myself not to allow my irritation to get the better of me again.

His actions made my head spin, but I wouldn't worry about that right now. No, it was a problem for the daylight when facts couldn't be hidden behind the mask of darkness. I would get to the bottom of his odd behavior. I _would_ have my answers.

* * *

Our time in Hedeby passed quickly enough. Having already secured the necessary assets to make war on the English, it was now up to the Earl to hold up her end of the bargain and harvest, forge, build, and train over the coming winter months into spring.

Lagertha held true to her nature and dragged me off on no less than five long walks throughout the surrounding landscape. Though she was a woman of few words, our time apart seemed to load her mind up with plenty to say once we were finally in each other's company once more. Whenever the conversation ebbed to suit her natural quiet, I easily prompted her back to speech with a few well-timed questions, and she would launch into a bend of words. I had sincerely missed her, and she did her best to satisfy my curiosity of her days in Hedeby following Earl Kalf's death.

"Of course, the landowners were not prepared for another change, and so quick as that. But my shieldmaidens ensured there was no uprising," she explained the effects of her actions.

"You are easy to fight for, Earl. Speaking of which, were you excited to see Björn? First a man and now a King. He has changed much in your time apart," I finished empathetically. I could only imagine Lagertha's suffering at being so far from her one remaining child. It was not something we spoke of often as there was no reason to bring it up, except for now anyway.

"I have missed him. I knew he would grow up strong—he is _my_ son, after all," she gave a short laugh at her own pride, "And his father's…" The sadness clouded over her features before she could stop it and she drew inward. Without missing a beat, she opened up once more and redirected her attention to me, "He will be a great King. He has already begun to prove it. You should stay close to him, Hel."

I smiled softly at her care for me. It was true, I felt safer around Björn, but didn't everyone? It was why he was chosen as King in the first place. I searched her eyes lovingly, "I do, Earl. You see I came here with him. He takes care of me; I have no doubt of that. The wars to come will continue to strengthen our friendship, I feel."

Lagertha smirked and lowered her head to make level eye contact with me, "That is not what I mean, Hel."

Oh. She meant… I mean, it wasn't completely unthinkable. I could understand how she surmised that we were more than companions. Our bond certainly rivaled that of brother and sister, but it was inherently different.

I widened my eyes and looked down to the village in the valley below, "He wouldn't—we wouldn't—I'm just—what in the name of Odin—"

Leave it up to Lagertha to confound my ability to form full sentences.

She crinkled her nose in amusement and tapped my own lightly with her index finger, "You will recall that I wasn't exactly happy to marry Björn's father either. And I like to think we made a fearsome couple," she teased with relish.

The Earl of Hedeby stood back up to her full height and spun around to continue our trek across the mountainside. I could do naught but stare helplessly after her.

Björn? After everything I had been through with Ivar, I couldn't imagine supporting anyone else to conquer the known world with.

Could I? No. I had just earned Ivar's trust—he had told me so. I would not be so easily swayed.

But a good shadow warrior knows that exit strategies must forever be considered and one option was never enough. Another dark thought to add to the growing bank and to never be considered again unless death loomed hot and heavy. Just a precaution, that's all… That's all.

* * *

Björn reached up to lay a firm hand on his mother's shoulder, "Thank you for treating us so well on our stay. I look forward to a victorious foray into England, Earl."

Lagertha smiled lazily at his formality while reaching up her own hand to cover his, "Yes, King." Shen the lifted her other hand to stroke his cheek affectionately, "I will miss you, my son." Björn's serious features broke out into a wide smile, and he pulled his mother in closer for a hug.

"And I you," he replied warmly. He released her slowly and stepped back to walk over to his horse. Lagertha pulled me in for an embrace as well and bent her mouth close to my ear, "Be safe, Daughter of Mischief." She moved to regard me at an arm's length, "And remember what I told you," she said slyly as she cocked her head with a secretive wink in Björn's direction. She spun me around with a quick pat on my rear, and I gave a little jump and a loud laugh. Björn looked up to see what the commotion was about.

"May Freyja watch over you on your journey home," Lagertha called in a louder voice. She gave nothing away of the little moment that had passed between us, and for that I was thankful.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Earl," I gracefully replied with a small smirk, "We will see you when the snow gives way to warmth."

Björn and I waved our goodbyes and set off at a light trot on horseback. Hedeby grew ever smaller in the distance, and soon we were making our way through patches of green forests scattered over mountains once more. The conversation was sparse at best, and no matter how much Lagertha had urged me, I could not bring myself to come close to this man. He couldn't even tell me what he knew of my parents, a friend though he claimed to be. I'd had enough of his hypocrisy.

The first week passed with my maintaining a three-horse distance between us, and I spoke only to communicate my needs for food, fire, and relieving myself. I could feel a quiet anger rising up within the young King; his body language screamed frustration. He would tense his jaw when I ignored him, his movements were sharp when building and stoking a fire, and his eyes flashed harshly in my direction whenever I moved unexpectedly. I had expected all of this. Björn was his father's son after all, and though Ragnar Lothbrok had a patience unlike most other Vikings, he also had a temper to rival Thor himself. I found it amusing, and that only served to drive him even more mad with irritation.

On the first morning of the second week of our trip, I rose languidly from my furs on the ground and began to make ready for the day. I ate a small meal of dried meat and bread all the while ignoring the presence beside me. When I finished with that, I walked over to my horse to retrieve a flagon of water and splash a bit on my face.

"We have only half a fortnight left on this journey," Björn voiced aloud in contemplation. It was clearly an attempt to get me to speak to him yet again, but I would not humor him. I continued about my routine and did not spare him a glance. He sensed my blatant refusal to acknowledge his existence and warned me in a low voice, "I tire of this game, Hel."

I couldn't help but snort derisively at that. If he hadn't wanted me to treat him like dog meat, then he should have done the honorable thing and told me what he knew. Vikings were not afraid of words. I was reminding him of that now.

I didn't bother to turn and look at the effect of my condescension on him, but I should have. I heard a rapid shuffling followed by two heavy footfalls before I was spun around and my back slammed against a wide tree trunk.

My head whipped backward dramatically to make contact with the hard surface, sending my mind into a brief daze.

"Ow!" I shouted hoarsely and opened my eyes to see Björn heaving with barely-controlled rage. He wasn't doing a spectacular job considering he had just thrown me against a tree. My eyes widened to mirror his anger and my lip snarled in irritation, "Have you lost your mind?!"

He made no motion to answer. A heavy, throbbing pain radiated outward from the crown of my head, and I reached up to soothe it before I realized he still had both of my arms secured at my sides. This only served to exacerbate my fury. I lowered my head while maintaining eye contact in a show of intimidation, " _Answer_ me, Björn."

"Answer you?" he lilted out and cocked his head to the side. His eyes blazed with a tinge of madness, "You would like an answer, Hel? You wish for me to _answer_ you—"

" _Yes!_ " I screamed in indignation, effectively cutting him off as he began to mock me, "What—in the name of all that is good and holy—was _that_ for?"

"You've got a lot of nerve, _girl_ ," Björn spoke with a quiet menace. The low rasp of it sent an aggressive shiver up my spine and signaled my brain to the threat that stood in front of me. For the first time in my life, I was the fixation of Björn's wrath in its entirety, and I was afraid. He moved his face closer to mine and breathed even faster now.

I dazedly watched his nostrils flare as I backed away from the current situation in my mind. As easily as Björn could fluster me, I knew that this was the most important time for my training to work against him. Pulling away would allow me to observe my surroundings rationally and act accordingly. I knew my way around heated encounters, and this was a tried and true tactic; I would not fail.

I took in the pallor of his face tinged with red from anger. I took in the feel of the tree I leant against as well as the circle of them surrounding us. I took in the two horses that grazed unwittingly a short ways beyond the clearing. I took in the feel of the air and how the soft breeze blew small tendrils of hair across my eyes.

There.

At least three trees away. A movement. What was that?

Björn reached up to snatch my chin to refocus my eyes upon him. I did so, but without hurry. I was still under my own control, and I would not be so readily led.

"You have got a lot of secrets, Hel, and you don't do the best job hiding them," he gritted out disparagingly. I stared blankly back at him. He was right, but then again, Björn always had been able to sense when I was hiding something. He pressed on darkly, "You will forgive me when I choose not to speak of something one time…As compared to your _thousands_ of times."

I glowered up at him as I listened to him remind me of the ineffective use of my abilities in the past. I was _well_ aware what I had or hadn't chosen to share with him when it came to—

There again.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw another shift in the scenery, and I was able to discern a vague outline from amongst the trees. What in the world?

As the form continued to move through the trees, I realized it was incredibly large. It was almost as tall as the horses, and it was getting bigger. Whatever it was, it was coming toward us!

"Björn," I warned lowly, fixing my eyes upon the creature in the distance.

He gave no sign of acknowledgement that I had just spoken, but he managed to squeeze my jaw a bit harder and forced me to look deeply into his eyes before he spoke again, "You will talk with Floki upon our return. He will explain everything you wish to know. As for right now, ignore me if you wish. It is your choice, Hel, but if you do not at least show me the proper respect as King, then I will be forced to hurt you. Remember that we are children no longer, and I cannot protect you," he finished looking somewhat remorseful.

I sighed and gazed up fondly into his eyes. I should have known that despite my childish behavior, Björn was just looking out for me as he always did in his own abrupt, effective way.

I heard a twig snap near the edge of the clearing and immediately directed my attention to the origin.

The creature! I recognized it as a wild dog now; a fearsome black hound with foam around its mouth and a hearty appetite in its eyes. Its ribs were visible behind its glistening dark fur, and I felt the rabidity rolling off of it in waves. The beast looked like the terrifying Garm itself.

"Björn—!" I managed to scream before he let me go and spun around in place just as the animal sunk its teeth into his raised arm. He let out a loud cry of pain as he fell to the ground, and I saw surprise pass behind his eyes. Blood surrounded its mouth, and I knew it wanted more. The animal quickly released Björn's arm and lifted its head to let its black eyes meet mine.

Oh, Gods, no. My bow and arrows were strapped to the horses that had taken off at a light trot to get away from the predator in our midst. A lot of good they would do me now. How could I stop this animal? It had just brought Björn to the ground!

A cold wind whipped through the clearing and gained speed as it circled among the trees. It brought with it the tidings of the Gods; divine intervention once more. Any secret doubt I may have harbored at having been chosen for a special purpose was finally cast aside. This was no coincidence. I closed my eyes to the danger before me and raised my head to the sky in gratitude.

I heard the beast growl lowly in what I could only imagine was preparation to lunge at me. Still, I did not look at it. I let my thoughts be permeated fully by whatever heavenly force was filling the forest around me.

An inaudible breath, an intangible caress. Hel.

" _This is my hound, a descendent of the line of Garm. He is yours,"_ I heard the goddess speak to my soul. A gift, then. Not a threat. Her blessings would never cease to amaze me.

I stood tall and raised my hand with an open palm toward the creature in a halting gesture. At the sound of an even louder growl, I snapped my eyes open to make eye contact with the Hel hound. It crouched to jump. Björn made a move to block it from launching at me.

"Enough," I ordered quietly. Both the King and the dog remained in place. This was my animal now, and I would not have him acting like a common beast.

"Sit," I commanded next. The hound sat down on the spot, though it did not wag its tail. I would have to give it a name.

"Garmsen, come here." He padded quickly over to where I stood, and I reached out my hand to allow it a sniff. All of my actions were intuitive—gifts from the heavens. Björn watched on helplessly, probably at a loss for how the situation could have gotten so far away from him in the span of a few moments.

"How did you—" he began but was effectively silenced by Garmsen swinging his head and raising his lips in a wretched snarl.

"Fetch some of the meat Lagertha spared us for the journey. He needs to eat, and you need to be the one to give it to him or else he will never trust you," I explained calmly. I was sure that did nothing to quell Björn's confusion, but I couldn't be bothered to care. I was so full of gratitude for this crowning gift I had been given from the Gods.

I extended my hand slowly to the fylgur, destined from this day forward to be my protector and companion. It approached without hesitation and sniffed leisurely at my palm before nuzzling it affectionately. I smiled absently while examining the animal's features.

It looked harmless now, and I could see that it was still a younger pup aged by desperation and hunger. "I think you and I will be fast friends, boy," I cooed lightly. Garmsen looked up into my face as I spoke and began to wag his tail. It was almost comical how different he looked from the cold-blooded beast of just a few moments ago. I chuckled in disbelief.

Björn walked back with a few strips of dried rabbit in hand, continuing to assess the scene Garmsen and I posed. So he had been able to recover the horses and our belongings—that was good. I beckoned him forward gingerly and beamed, "Come, King. You must meet our newest travel companion: Garmsen."

He shook his head almost exasperatedly as if he couldn't believe he was playing along with the madness that had unfolded. He then put out his offering to Garmsen.

The black hound growled faintly until it realized that there was sustenance to be had. Once it knew it was not being duped, it snatched the meat greedily and downed it in a few choppy bites.

"Good enough," I concluded, "Come on, boys, time to go." I turned to head back to the horses.

"Wait, Hel," Björn ordered. What could he possibly want now? Who could wait around when things were happening faster than we mortals could ever hope to control or anticipate?

"Yes, King?" I replied languidly, halting in my path and spinning around to face him once more.

"About before…" Björn Ironside at a loss for words? This was rich.

" _Yes_ ," I teased exaggeratedly. He gave me a hard look to let me know to shut my mouth.

"I want you to know that I… I only meant…" He couldn't even get a full sentence out. He clearly didn't even know what he wanted to explain. Why he could no longer control himself and had practically attacked me. But I knew.

"You must not worry yourself over me, Björn. I know your ways and I know the ways of your family. You are Viking," I explained to the best of my abilities. He was angry with himself for allowing his emotions to get the best of him, but he should have known better than anyone that Vikings were not known for their self-control. I could forgive him, but it didn't look like he could forgive himself just yet.

The New King stared blankly into my face as he tried to understand where my speech was coming from. I was sure he did not expect me to be so understanding. I smiled in order to reassure him.

A moment later, his eyes blazed keenly, and he was pacing steadily toward me. I could not protest before his arms wrapped around me and he slammed his lips onto mine. I gasped into his mouth out of sheer surprise. What in Helheim was this?!

This man who had always been a companion and comfort to me was suddenly acting distinctly unfamiliar. I wanted to push him away. I wanted to scream in his face that even he knew I was close to Ivar and something like this would not be tolerated. I would lose everything I had with his brother.

But he wouldn't care. He was the son of Ragnar Lothbrok. He was Viking. I had just said so, and now he was acting on it.

And Odin help me if Björn's arms didn't feel like the warmest winter blanket. His lips were fire under stone, and they ignited something primal in me. Something distinctly _human_.

There was no blessing of the Gods here. No icy cold kisses of Helheim or fiery touches of tricksters. We were mere mortals toying with the Fates. There was no victory to be had.

" _You are mine. Never forget that, Hel… Or I will personally see to it that you suffer_ ," Ivar's words flew swiftly through my mind. I shoved Björn away with everything I had and wiped my face to remove any traces of him. I looked fiercely into his eyes, "You are a good man, Björn, and you will make a good King. But you will not make a good lover to me," I paused to let my message sink in, "Come. Let us go home and never speak of this again."

I turned away without sparing him another glance and walked to mount my horse. Disloyalty was often met with bitter ends; I had seen that often as a child. I would not allow myself to fall victim to so insignificant a demise because of a passing fancy.

I deserved more. Much, much more.

* * *

Kattegat slumbered in the early light of dawn below us, and Björn and I paused our horses for a moment to take in the beauty of it. Garmsen came up promptly behind. The past few days had been difficult to get through with him, but I had born it just the same. We only spoke to communicate the necessities of our survival, and I believed the young King truly regretted what he had done, but I didn't try to find out.

We descended the hill into the center of the village and tied our horses' reins to the nearest fence post. I was exhausted. We had decided to ride through the night considering how close we were to reaching home, and I was feeling it now. I patted Garmsen on the head, pleased with his unexpectedly pleasant behavior during our journey. He would be free to roam Kattegat while I stayed in the great hall near the Queen's chambers. But there was one more thing to attend to before I could release myself to a long day's slumber.

"Björn," I called. He paused in his movements, struck by the fact that I had just spoken to him first. He looked up almost timidly and waited for me to speak again. I smoothed my hair down absentmindedly, "Remember what I said. What happened must never be spoken of again for my own sake as well as yours. Please understand me."

He made ready to answer when a voice rang out clear and biting in the crisp morning air. "And what ever could you be speaking of, Hel?"

I did not dare look behind me, for I already knew who awaited.

Ivar.

* * *

 **A/N: I've decided to include brief descriptions for those who might not understand the particulars of Norse mythology and culture. I hope it helps! :)**

 **Norns - The Fates**

 **Nine Realms - The worlds that comprise the universe**

 **White - Cowardly, Unmanly**

 **Freyja - Goddess of Love, Beauty, and Destiny**

 **Thor - God of Thunder**

 **Garm - The Hound of Hel**

 **Garmsen - "Son of Garm"**

 **Fylgur - A familiar**


	9. Reunion

I had to tell him the truth; how could I not? But I could not do it out here with Björn standing so close. I had no idea what would happen once I told him about the kiss. Would Ivar kill the King?

No. He had said I would be the one to suffer. Blood counted for something to Ivar, I was sure, so Björn might not hold the blame.

Clearing his throat, Ivar drew me from my thoughts, and I spun around slowly to face him. I could feel the exhaustion seeping back into my bones and my limbs grew heavier with every movement. I parted my lips to speak, "Come into the hall, Ivar, and I will tell you everything."

I saw Björn take a measured step toward me out of the corner of my eye, but I gave no indication that I neither saw nor cared. This trust business coupled with the overwhelming fatigue I felt at that moment was doing everything in its power to ensure I felt nothing. No fear at what Ivar would do to me, no compassion toward his caring brother, _nothing_.

"Whatever you need to tell me, I'm sure you can do so in the company of our _dear_ King," he mocked condescendingly, "He was helping to hide your secret anyway, was he not?" His mouth turned upward in a smirk and his head bobbed slightly from side to side with his seeming victory.

This was all too much, too soon. I was not prepared to deal with so critical a matter immediately upon my return to Kattegat, and I was certainly not ready to handle whatever would come of my revealing to Ivar that I shared a kiss with his older brother. He would never forgive me. We would never recover.

I gazed blankly between Ivar and Björn, giving away nothing in my expression. I noticed Garmsen wandering freely around nearby huts without a care in the world and was struck with the strongest conviction.

I needed time to think. Now.

I unwittingly stared at the entrance to the great hall.

"Hel…" Björn warned. He knew what I was about to do. I cocked my head to spare him a glance, but I was drawn back to Ivar's gaze. He grinned and spoke lowly, "Go ahead, Hel. I _dare_ you."

What little self-control I had left was gone in an instant, and I broke out into a dead sprint for the great hall, using all the energy I had left to escape the situation I had put myself in. I could hear Ivar chuckling throatily as I ran past him into the doorway, and I knew in my heart that our next meeting would not be pleasant. But I would think on that later.

I would go to my bed, lock myself away, sleep, and when I woke up, I would deal with everything that came with returning to Kattegat. After some time away from Ivar, I was sure I could come up with some excuse to tell him about what I had meant in asking Björn not to say anything to him. But should I tell him a lie? Was his trust even worth it anymore?

Wow. It was amazing how mere overtiredness made me so eager to give up on everything I had worked for. I shook my head as I neared my room to clear my hasty thoughts.

As I made my way past the queen's chambers, I noticed her absence and wondered absentmindedly where she might be this early in the morning. No matter.

My room was nestled in the back corner, and I threw the latch over the door as soon as I entered. I could care less what Ivar thought—I would let him growl and paw at the door all night.

I removed my traveling furs and crawled underneath the covers. I stared at the ceiling for a few moments as the gravity of the situation dawned on me. I kissed Björn and Ivar was moments away from discovering it. I would pay dearly, I knew it. My stomach felt like it was sinking into the floor. I prayed haphazardly to any Gods that were listening for courage as my eyelids fell shut and I drifted off into a heavy sleep.

* * *

I awoke in the late afternoon before dusk to the sound of banging cups, the scraping of wooden benches, and raucous yells. My clansmen were at it yet again. Despite the circumstances surrounding my return with the New King, I couldn't help but smile dazedly. I was home again, and my people were just as I had left them.

It was then that I knew I had to make it right with everyone—with Björn and with Ivar. For my people's sake. I lay still and took one large, drawn out breath and released it through my nostrils. There was a slight bolstering in my spirits, and I sat up straight while swinging my legs over the side of my bed. There was no point in delaying destiny; I had to sort out what I'd done.

A short while later, I was fully dressed and ready to greet my North Men. My hair fell freely in loose curls that were secured with two even braids about my head like a crown. I had adorned them with small, light blue gems here and there. I had also donned a tan dress with long sleeves and decorative patterns of twisting dark gold cloth around the plunging neckline, sleeves, and hem. Earrings hung from my ears, rings adorned my fingers, and my neck was completely bare. Every feature of my clothing was designed to draw the eye to all of the important areas and cause distraction—temptation even. I was not going into battle unarmed. Siggy would be proud.

It occurred to me that I really hadn't heard her much during my travels to Hedeby, and it was actually quite refreshing. I thought clearly for myself while I was away. No internal arguing, just action. I was myself again.

I wondered if I should go out and find Garmsen though I was sure he couldn't have wandered far. He was tied to me by spirit, and inexplicably, I could feel his presence somewhere in the village. He would be fine for the evening as there would be plenty of scraps from the feasting for him to eat.

With one final appraisal of my reflection in the looking glass, I unbarred my door and exited the room. I was eager to see Ivar again despite the anxiety that rose at the thought of dealing with his fury. I peered cautiously into the main room from the Queen's chambers, but I didn't see him anywhere among the villagers. I was being spared for just a bit longer.

My eyes traveled to the throne to see Björn sat upon it, gazing over his people pleasantly. He appeared to have a good, kingly visage, and I knew that my blessings were in order.

I parted the leather curtain and entered into the fray. I saw a few children running about and paused to allow them to fly past. A few people raised their head to me and offered their greetings, and I smiled kindly and bowed my head in return.

When I looked back up, I saw the King staring at me with a guarded look upon his face. He leaned back in his chair and raised his right hand to draw his index finger straight over his lips where it came to rest in assessment.

I took a step toward him, and he narrowed his eyes. After my harsh treatment of him over the past fortnight as well as my childish behavior this morning, I could only imagine that he thought I would want to avoid him as much as possible. But I knew the error of my ways, and I had to make them right.

With a few more confident strides, I came to stand in front of the New King as merriment roared around us. Still he did not speak. Instead he waited for me to make the first move. Ever watchful, ever calculating he was.

"Have you told them the good news of Hedeby's promise yet?" I asked lightly. Björn glanced at his people and then back at me, but otherwise made no movement. A few moments ticked on in silence between us. Maybe he would not forgive me so readily as I thought he would. Apparently I had done more damage to our relationship than I had originally estimated, and that broke my heart. No, I could not let it be. I would keep at it until he forgave me. I searched my mind for something else to say to get him to speak to me.

Before I had a chance to come up with anything, he raised his head from his hand and let out wryly, "Why do you think they are drinking so much?" A small smile perched on his lips.

Oh, thank the Gods! He was no longer angry with me! I let out a hearty laugh and pressed my hand to my heart in relief. Even in my joy, I saw the King's eyes dip toward my bosom, and it became the focal point of my movement. I paused slightly, and his eyes immediately whipped back up to meet my own. We stared at each other bewildered once more.

Another round of heavy laughter broke out between the two of us. I hated it when things were too serious with him, and I didn't care if this good man fell prey to my charms ever again. I would never begrudge him for it. He was kin to me, and that was that.

I reached out to lay a friendly hand on his shoulder, and I looked deeply into his eyes, "I understand that you could not tell me about my parents. I will talk to Floki, and it will be a passing nothing between us. You are a good King, Björn," I finished warmly.

He smiled in thanks and put his hand atop my own. We remained like that for a few short, happy moments.

Soon I removed my hand from his body, stepped back from the throne, and turned to face the doorway of the great hall.

"Are you going now?" he questioned.

"Yes, I'll be back in the morning," I replied. If Ivar wasn't here, then I couldn't solve any problems with him no matter how pressing. I could solve this one with Floki for now, and that would have to suffice.

"Be safe," he closed. I nodded and headed out. He really was a good man, and I hoped he would find a good woman to come alongside him to help rule. Like Lagertha had been to Ragnar in the early days. Like I hoped to be to Ivar in the future. If he and I ever made it that far.

But now was not the time for worry; it was time for action. I exited the great hall and stepped onto the wooden landing, casting a searching look around the village for any signs of the Boneless son. Again, he was nowhere to be found. I let out a relieved sigh. I might have been ready to face my problems, but I was definitely not without fear.

' _Didn't I work the fear out of you, girl?_ ' Apparently Siggy's guidance was back after her infrequent intrusions during my travels to the south. It finally made sense. She died here in Kattegat, so her spirit must be tethered to this place. That was why I had not heard her as often in Hedeby. It must have taken a lot of persistence and energy to bring herself a ways across the lands of the North men to counsel me. I accepted her commentary with begrudging affection.

"You did," I responded sullenly.

' _And so you must work it out again. It will serve you no purpose in what is to come,_ ' she chided.

"Yes, but how?" I mused aloud.

This time Siggy gave no response, and I found it slightly ominous that her voice would leave me so suddenly after practically jumping to give me her advice.

A wet sensation nuzzled my hand, and I yelped in surprise. I looked down at my side to see Garmsen wagging his dark tail and seeming very pleased with himself. He must have eaten well while I was asleep. I smiled lovingly at my newfound companion and bent down to stroke his fur with all the affection my two hands could muster.

"Garmsen, son of the hound of Hel," I teased as I pet him. If I didn't know any better, I would think he couldn't hurt a soul. Much less be the descendant of the beast that guards the souls of the dead from leaving Helheim. But after his display in our first encounter, I knew better. Garmsen was lethal, and he was all mine.

Wait, Siggy's voice disappeared when Garmsen was close by. Her soul probably fled at the sight of the son of the guardian of Hel! Everything was forming together in my mind, and it was almost as if I was coming to know the details of the magic of the world intuitively. I probably had my Goddess to thank for that. More and more, she took care of me, and I was starting to wonder just how far Hel would spur me on. Further than England? Further than Ivar? Everything came so easily through her, and I thanked the Goddess for her favor and kindness. I would stay with her until the end.

I gave a final pat to Garmsen and turned toward the tree line to make my way to Floki's home on the lakeshore. It wasn't terribly far, but I wanted to get there before the sun dipped below the horizon and the forest turned black. Though I had the favor of the Gods, I did not want to be caught unawares in the dark by whatever threats resided in the woods.

I pulled up the hem of my dress and walked briskly like I was on one of my hikes with Lagertha. I enjoyed the way my breathing deepened and I had to open my mouth to take in enough air. I watched my feet as I picked my way carefully over fallen trees and through bushes that came up to my hips. I was so intent on my own movement and the feel of them that I did not notice a quick movement to my right.

A whoosh of air flew directly in front of my face causing me to stop directly, and I leaned back exaggeratedly to avoid it. What in the—?

I spun around in every direction trying to figure out what had just happened. When I faced the original direction I had been traveling in, the same rush of air moved past me again, except this time I saw what caused it.

To my left—embedded in the trunk of a sturdy tree—was the swaying end of a freshly shot arrow.

Taking no time to assess my surroundings further, I dove behind a tree facing the opposite direction from which the arrow had come. What on Midgard was going on? Who in the Nine Realms was shooting arrows at me?

I took a moment to control my erratic breathing by pressing my palms firmly to the tree behind me and slowed the thoughts that raced in my mind. There was an explanation for what was going on, I was sure. Did someone think I was a deer?

Simple, I would let them know that I was indeed _not_ game for their hunting.

"Kinsman! It is Hel from the village! You may not have seen me clearly, so I ask you now to not loose any more of your arrows in my direction. I am most definitely not a deer, I can tell you!" I laughed nervously. With my exclamation in the open, I peeked out from behind the tree a bit to see the mistaken archer.

Just as my eyes cleared the trunk, I saw a male figure sitting atop a tall stump, arms taut, and bow fully extended. In the light of the setting sun, I could instantly see who it was. The archer released his arrow, and it whirred passed the top of my head only to land in another tree a few feet away. I squealed helplessly and returned to my former position of safety.

"What in Odin's name are you doing, Ivar?!" I screamed in frustration. This was not what I had feared he would do. This was much, _much_ worse. My legs shook and my hands became sweaty as I lost any semblance of rationality. I was paralyzed with fear. Ivar Ragnarson was trying to _kill_ me.

' _What did I tell you about fear, girl?_ ' Siggy's voice scolded once more.

"I don't understand how him trying to kill me is not something to be afraid of!" I said in a loud whisper. My mentor's spirit could not respond before Ivar's harsh, raspy yell attacked my ears.

"Don't you know who I am?!" he shouted. I heard all the souls of Hel in his voice. Had my Goddess turned on me?

I would die this day.

I clung to the trunk that barely afforded me any protection and prayed to the Gods for mercy. I prayed to any that would take pity on this once strong girl brought so low. A girl who held so much promise but would now die because she did not listen to the dead and chose to trust a boy who would cover the world in blood. Tears began to stream silently down my face.

I had helped no one. I had done nothing. I was dust.

This was my legacy.

"Don't you know who I am?!" he bawled again. This time he answered his own question, "I am Ivar the Boneless!" A fourth arrow zipped past my right side into the same tree as before, right next to the arrow that preceded it. They were so close they touched side by side! His aim was impeccable, and he was going to use it to bury one of those Godsforsaken shafts in my skull.

But…If Ivar's aim was so great, how had he managed to miss me three times, two of which when I was out in the open?

An icy breath of love shivered down my neck. Hel was here. Had she not abandoned me for him?

' _Now_.' That was all the knowledge she would give me. Now? Now what?

' _Don't be afraid, child,_ ' Siggy rallied after the Goddess.

I raised my head and gazed straight in front of me.

Don't be afraid. Now.

Don't be afraid now. Hel's presence was around, but she did not lend me her divine courage. I had to do this on my own.

I brought a shaky hand up to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

Don't be afraid now.

I took a step away from the tree and turned to walk around the side of it. Once my silhouette emerged, two more arrows were loosed in succession. I tensed as both passed on either side of my head.

' _Keep walking,_ ' I reminded myself.

I marched determinedly in Ivar's direction as a few more arrows flew by me, each seeming to get closer and closer to their mark. I saw his grim expression in the dimming light of the forest. Not once did his features move from their firm set. When I was within several steps of the stump upon which he was perched, Ivar released another arrow. I gasped heavily when it sailed past my ear, cutting it just barely.

I was testing him in what may have been the worst way possible. He had no reason to trust me. No reason to keep me alive. This was surreal. Maybe I deserved to die for all my foolhardiness.

I continued my steady trudge to where he sat until I was right in front of him. We were face to face now, and I took in his features at close range. His eyes were wild and his nostrils flared. His breathing was uneven and ragged.

My serenity only made him angrier, and he placed another arrow in the bow and pulled it tight. He took aim directly between my brows.

My mind screamed at me to run, to hit him, to do anything that would save me, but my heart swelled with daring. I stared deeply into his eyes and felt a small smile set on my lips, "Do it."

I saw him tense even more at my words. His eyes widened as his flexed arms began to shake. My confidence didn't fade, and I waited for him to make his move. He was going to loose this fatal arrow. I knew it, I _felt_ it. He was going to—.

With a raging scream, Ivar drew his bow up almost completely straight and released the final bolt.

I let out a breath of air I didn't know I had been holding. I watched numbly as Ivar threw his bow down away from him, reach his hands out to grab the back of my neck, and draw me in to smash his lips against my own.

I was being revived, and all my senses came rushing back to me. My heart pounded and my breathing became uneven now too. I clawed at him, all of him. I wanted to feel everything that I had missed and was about to lose all over again.

Ivar bit my lip with a vengeance. I was sure he drew blood, but I didn't care because I ripped my mouth away from his and bit his neck with all my might. He let out a small shout and wound his nails down the bare opening of my dress to leave a mark in return. I sucked in a quick lungful and moved back to stare hatefully into his eyes. His countenance mirrored my own.

"You and I," Ivar began as he pulled me back in to press his lips next to my ear, "are going to have a _long_ talk."

* * *

 **A/N: Hello, everyone! Long story short, I ended a bad relationship and needed some time to heal. I appreciate you being so patient, and I'm glad you like the story :)**

 **Inspiration for this chapter is courtesy of this lovely little video: post/153834775131/strangestviking-dont-you-know-who-i-am-you. Enjoy!**


	10. Revelations

Ivar moved his face back a bit until we had regressed to our original distance. I raised my eyes up from the forest floor to meet his. His countenance was composed—almost serene even, with a hint of a smile playing behind his eyes. He looked like a snake poising itself to strike. I dared not breathe.

In an instant, he dropped his calm façade and placed both hands on my shoulders to shove me down to the ground in front of him. My knees buckled under the pressure, and I was forced to kneel. Servant before master, predator before prey—I was the lesser being in this exchange, and Ivar was doing his utmost to ensure that I understood it.

I allowed my face to give away nothing. I still had all the rage and pride swelling in my chest from having just barely cheated death at the hand of this man. It was not so easy a thing to let go of and instead feel the severity of the world about me. In my mind, everything was simple and made sense in this moment, no matter how outlandish.

I continued to look on dully into my aggressor's eyes, curious to see how he would carry on from here. Ivar glanced about my face, wildly seeking out any hint of betrayal before I opened my mouth to speak. He seemed as if he would pull the very hairs from my head if he found a single thing out of place. I could not blame him for it, so I waited for him to continue.

Finally, he spoke slowly and cruelly, measuring each word carefully to give it a healthy amount of venom, "You will tell me everything. Every last little nothing," his eyes narrowed. He grabbed me by the front of my dress with one strong arm to draw me closer to him once more before he pressed on, "And if I feel for even a single moment that you are lying to me…I will make you _hurt_."

An involuntary shiver made its way up my spine, and I felt the sensation I had so recently lost beginning to ebb its way back into my consciousness. Ivar had delicately and elegantly placed a small inkling of fear back in its place after I had fought so recklessly to yank it out. My heartbeat quickened its pace and a tremble began in the tips of my fingers. If I didn't do something to regain control soon, I would dissolve into a helpless heap on the ground at his feet.

Had the Guardian of Helheim not just a short while ago endeavored to break me free from this very predicament? Had I not just overcome every drop of fear within me for good? Otherwise, what was the purpose of braving an onslaught of arrows?

Wait. It was never about eliminating my propensity toward fear outright. No, that would be foolish. Those without fear might accomplish great things in a short amount of time, but they usually died early, unnecessary deaths for all their imprudence. An ancient study with Æthelstan on the Greek hero Achilles came to mind. His great weakness wasn't his heel; it was his heart—too bold for its own good.

Fear was fine. Fear was smart. And it was action in the presence of fear that made men great. I suddenly became aware of every sensation in my body and made the conscious decision to progress in spite of it.

I reconnected my eyes with Ivar's and spoke honestly, "I don't know where you want me to start."

"Let's start with your time in Hedeby—your time with the _King_ —and then we can talk about everything before that. About who you really were when we were younger, and how you came to be so _deceitful_ a woman," he spat viciously, irritated by my delay.

I had already made up my mind to hide absolutely nothing from him, and even with his poor temper, I vowed to speak only the truth. Action in spite of fear.

"Your brother and I successfully negotiated the promise of fighters and crops from Earl Ingstadt, we spent a happy several days in Hedeby, and then we returned." I paused but was abruptly interrupted before I could carry on.

"I told you what would happen if you dared to lie—"

"I am not finished," I cut Ivar off in kind while levelling a glare at him.

He gave no indication that he heard me and chose to direct the conversation once more in the manner he desired, "Was that really you in my dream?"

"Yes," I replied simply.

"How?" he interrogated further.

"I used a sacred magic that Floki taught me as a child," I admitted without hesitation, "It involves the runes of old."

My vague explanation did not do much to satisfy Ivar's insatiable mind. He took a moment to sift through the small amount of information I had provided him before he pierced straight to the heart of the matter, "How strong exactly is your involvement with the Gods?"

Clever man.

"They give me favor in return for my faith," I offered. Not a lie, yet not a truth. I didn't know how I could possibly explain to Ivar the Boneless—a man completely intent on the material world—of all my dealings with supernatural. I would have a hard time believing them myself if I had not been blessed with immense faith and understanding from the deities I called upon regularly.

"There is more to it than that, Hel," he challenged. I sighed exasperatedly.

Ivar did not appreciate it one bit, and he snapped one hand to grab my chin and pull it upward toward his face. "Are my efforts tiresome for you, Daughter of Mischief? Go on; say that you can't tell me the truth. I _dare_ you," he seethed through closed teeth.

Trust was a cruel bedfellow. I stared ruefully back into Ivar's blue-green orbs.

"The Gods guide me," I ground out, "Every single step that I take. I don't know why, but they favor me. And you," that statement piqued his interest. His anger dissipated slightly, and now he merely remained intent to hear more. I would not disappoint him, "All of my life I have been groomed for greatness, but never glory. The Gods have conferred me with abilities beyond most people's imaginations, both tangible and divine, but only for the purpose of serving my people and the one who would lead them. Up until recently, I really didn't know how I would do it," I paused to take a breath and make sure the gravity of what I was saying made sense to him. It did, and his eyes blazed with interest, "But when I came back from Hedeby the first time, something was different. I noticed you more than usual. I started to watch you—study you. And that was the first time I remember feeling the urging of the Gods: you, Ivar the Boneless, are the one that I will bring to glory through my greatness."

I waited once more and watched him take in everything I had just said. He finally released my chin, and I rubbed it absentmindedly to relieve the dull ache. When it seemed he would not speak I posed, "Have you never felt the Gods, Ivar?"

He looked down then. "Only a couple of times, but never so strong as you describe it," he conceded. I stood to match his height and put my pointer finger under his chin to draw his eyes up to my own.

"You have their blessing as surely as the sun rises each morning and sets every night. They have told me it is so."

Ivar looked back up into my eyes, a sense of determination about him. "What else do they tell you?"

"That is the extent of it for the most part. Every time I have heard the Gods speak, it has been about you or how I am to aid you. Whether it is making myself stronger to support you or understanding what I must do for you, it is always just that."

"Do they think I cannot do it on my own?" he asked somewhat defensively, crossing his arms over his chest like a pouting child. I almost laughed.

"I have no doubt they know you can achieve your ambitions by yourself, Ivar," I answered through a smile, "But I will make it easier for you. You have only seen some of what I can do. You will not be disappointed."

His eyebrows raised in curiosity at that. "What are these abilities you speak of? How am I to trust you if I don't know what you can do to me?"

"I would show you rather than tell you," I stated coyly. A girl couldn't give away all of her secrets in one go. I offered him a smirk as consolation.

"I'll allow it," he smiled dangerously in return. It lingered for a few moments but was soon replaced with a look of contempt, "You are not done telling me the truth."

"What do you mean?" I could not for the life of me think what I hadn't disclosed to him already.

"Your little _chat_ with Björn," he alluded coldly.

A small shock of panic raced through my belly. I had known this part of the conversation was inevitable, but for just a moment, Ivar and I had been on good terms. Something I would never have again after I told him what happened between his brother and me.

I took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. "Will you promise me one thing?" I asked hopefully.

"What?" he practically spat at me.

"That you will listen to me no matter what occurs between us," I finished. I knew there was a great chance that this could end disastrously, but I had to at least try not to let it.

Ivar instantly grew suspicious. He narrowed his eyes as his nostrils flared maliciously. "For your sake, that had better not be a start to what you are about to tell me."

My jaw clenched in worry. His promise of suffering if I strayed remained in the forefront of my mind. "Promise me. Please," I begged.

Ivar leaned forward menacingly so his face was close to mine once more. "I promise _nothing_ ," he gritted out.

I could feel the world collapsing around me. I should lie. It was nothing—a small kiss—what did that matter? So what if it was Ivar's brother and our new King? If I were truthful, everything would be ruined. I couldn't do it. I couldn't lose this peace that I had worked so hard for with Ivar.

' _He will believe you, though he knows you lie,_ ' Siggy's voice entered my mind intrusively. I did not need this right now. Not at so crucial a juncture in my relationship with the Boneless Ragnarson.

'What is that supposed to mean?' I asked her while simultaneously leveling a glare at Ivar. If he would grant me no mercy, then he would see none from me.

' _You know exactly what it means, girl. Don't pretend to be a dullard. You can easily recover from this. You've told this boy enough truths to make sure he believes you even when you lie. Now tell him an untruth to save yourself,'_ she advised.

Gain Ivar's trust just so that I can manipulate it? Gods above, is that how I wanted to carry out my calling? With no one whom I could trust or who could trust me fully? There was no winning in this situation, but I at least wanted to make it out on the other side free of guilt.

An ethereal calm befell my body as I reached out to place my hand in a light caress on Ivar's neck. I could see the red teeth marks underneath my fingers. We were a destructive pair; maybe this was a good thing. Ivar's eyes widened slightly as he waited for my next move.

I leaned up to place a chaste kiss at the base of his collarbones, and still he did not move. I placed another on the lump of his throat and a third that lingered on his lips. He hesitated but soon responded by wrapping his arms loosely around my shoulders, and I acted in kind. I drew him close and poured into his lips all of the emotions I was feeling—anxiety, longing, regret. Our limbs roamed over each other and our movements became frenzied. I clung to him with everything I had, and I knew he sensed the desperation in me.

I moved my hands to either side of his face to draw him away from me, but I couldn't help giving him one last persistent kiss before doing so.

Once I had created some space between us, I assessed his countenance. He seemed suspicious, forlorn, and even a bit regretful, as if he already knew what I was about to tell him. And what he would have to do when I did.

"Björn and I…" I trailed off as soon as I began. I could feel the words dying in my throat; the willpower it took to speak them aloud no longer present. Ivar's features became ever more strained as he silently urged me to continue. "We shared a kiss," I finished lamely.

No lies. No embellishments. Merely truth—pure and simple.

The instant the words left my mouth, a harsh wind barreled through the forest and swept by us like the last roar of a dying tempest. I felt nothing and instead waited to see what Ivar's reaction would be.

"A kiss?" He looked dazed.

"Yes," I breathed.

"With my brother?"

"Yes."

He did not move. He did not blink. He did not breathe. Nothing.

I could not stand the silence. I reached a hand out to touch his shoulder, "Ivar—"

"Do not _touch_ me," he hissed while pushing my arm away. The ferocity of his movement shocked me from my own haze.

"I have told you the truth—that is what you wanted, no?" I mocked in my frustration.

Ivar looked at me harshly, his face scrunched up in disgust. Even still, I could see the sadness behind his eyes. He was an injured beast, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

Before I could get an answer from him, he leaned behind the stump to pull out his crutches from their hiding place. He mounted them carelessly and took off at a steady pace through the woods. I watched his actions unfold with nothing but bewilderment in my heart and head. This was not the Ivar I knew. Or at least, it wasn't the Ivar I thought I knew.

Why had he not cursed me before the Gods, inflicted his own hurt onto me, _anything_? What had I done to cause him so grave an injury that he would not even address it? It had only been a kiss! A harmless little kiss that I had taken for having no value from its outset and had thus ended immediately. I hadn't lain with the King, though Ivar was certainly acting as if it were that serious.

I numbly took in the sight of his distant form hobbling its way through the forest. I would allow him some time, if that was what he truly needed. But I would not allow him to wallow for too long. Like it or not, he would have to get over himself sooner rather than later.

We had stars to tame.

* * *

Sigurd raised his head at the commotion coming from the entrance to the great hall. Ivar had apparently returned from whatever excursion he had been on for the greater part of the afternoon, and he was looking none too pleased. This brought a bawdy smirk to Sigurd's face; Ivar's torment was his joy. The other Ragnarsons and their mother felt pity for the boy, so it was refreshing to see the Gods deal him some misfortune. He deserved it for all his disquiet in Sigurd's opinion.

Ivar dragged himself up to the front of the room to join his family near the throne. The New King sat gracefully upon the fur-covered station, his head leaning haphazardly against the seat back as he watched his people in silent rumination.

It brought some enjoyment to Sigurd knowing that so capable a man occupied the head of the kingdom of Kattegat. With another glance in his youngest brother's direction, Sigurd's mouth turned upward in a sneer. What a weak boy. He would never do upon the throne like Björn did. His very form was lacking, and no matter how well he learned to fight, he would never be a true man without the use of his legs. Sigurd doubted he could even satisfy a woman! The son of Ragnar Lothbrok, indeed.

The sudden thought brought an unbidden bubble of laughter out of Sigurd's throat, much to the surprise of everyone in the circle around him. The topic of conversation up until that point had not been particularly riveting, and such a reaction was quite out of place.

Sigurd glanced around furtively as he tried to come up with a suitable explanation. Whereas Ubbe and Hvitserk were amused and Björn was as unperturbed as he ever was, Ivar watched him cautiously. Eh, why hide the truth anyway? It was not the Viking thing to do.

"What has you in so foul a mood, dear brother?" Sigurd taunted Ivar. His brothers redirected their attention toward the youngest Ragnarson.

Ivar's features became downright murderous in a moment, and Sigurd wondered just what he had gotten himself into. But rather than pounce or shout, Ivar softened and a smile formed on his displeased face. "Go to Hel," he grinned.

"I would gladly, brother, but I thought she was your woman," Sigurd retorted without missing a beat. Where was that girl anyway? Sigurd thought the pair of them would have been inseparable upon her return from Hedeby with the New King.

Ivar's grin disappeared immediately. Ha! He had surely stricken a sore spot there.

"No?" Sigurd teased further. He could see his brother's nostrils flaring angrily as his breathing quickened. He was truly beginning to enjoy this evening's festivities, "Then maybe I shall take her for my own when she returns—what do you say?"

One moment Ivar was perched atop a wooden seat and the next he was sailing through the air at Sigurd with a mighty roar. The blonde boy barely moved out of the way in time to avoid being hit. Ivar had gotten quicker with age. That was surprising.

Sigurd laughed ruthlessly at his brother's form that now lay sprawled before him on the floor. All eyes in the hall were on them now. The laughing and shouts had ceased. Good, let the fool embarrass himself in front of his kinsmen.

Björn leaned forward in his seat threateningly as Queen Aslaug leapt from her throne to calm the situation. Ivar lifted his head pitifully and stared up at Sigurd with wide, hateful eyes. Sigurd snorted in disgust; he had had enough of this sickening display. This was even worse than when Ivar had gotten himself piss drunk alone in the eastern hall with that blonde quim—Saga or whatever her name was.

Sigurd had a thought to spit on the floor in his brother's face, but then thought twice with his mother so close.

"Better keep a close eye on her, brother, lest the Gods should pass her my way," he warned. He spun on his heel to make his exit from the hall, but not before getting a good look at his brother's face.

As much as Sigurd knew he was the superior specimen in this case (his brother was just a cripple, after all), he still felt a shiver run up his spine. In Ivar's eyes he had seen an unholy fire, and deep down where Sigurd refused to even acknowledge the thought, he conceded that he was afraid of the young man. A rabid wolf bridled only by the walls Ivar put up himself. One day that wolf would be free to raid, to claim, and to ruin.

And Sigurd recognized that he could fall victim to the beast's jaws.

* * *

I watched my breaths escape in short, agitated wisps as I stomped mercilessly through the woods. I had decided that I would soldier on with my journey; nothing would stop me from achieving one small victory this evening. Not cold, not arrows, and certainly not Ivar. I would know what Floki could tell me about my parents.

' _Does that even really matter now?_ ' my addled mind asked from the curtain of rationality.

"SHUT UP!" I bellowed while increasing my pace. Clearly my encounter with Ivar had affected me more than I cared to admit.

"Child," a voice called lightly from my left. I screamed in surprise, though it sounded a bit more like rage. I whirled around to see who had addressed me when Helga's elegant form stepped out from the trees, and I could recognize concern written on her features. Her blonde hair and kohl-lined eyes were truly a comforting sight.

"Helga!" I exclaimed in relief and rushed to embrace her.

From her arms she tilted back to assess me once more. "What ails you, my dear? What has you shouting to the nothingness?"

Her languid smile relaxed me instantly, and I felt the need to bare all my secrets right then and there. I would not spare a detail.

' _Caution, young one_ ,' Siggy voiced internally.

She was right. All of this emotion was making me a bit more effusive than I cared to be.

"Nothing too great. I had just come to ask Floki about my time as a child," I recovered quickly.

"Come along," she ushered warmly. We meandered a ways to the shoreline where Floki could be spied sipping at some broth in the early evening twilight.

"So you found the source of that terrible noise," he cackled. I looked to Helga.

"Hel has come to ask you of her early days," she explained.

"Ah, yes. Have a seat, child. I'll see if I can give you honest answers for it was not so long ago! Tell me what you want to know."

I joined him by the fireside in a seat of my own. I should have smiled to ease the atmosphere, but I wasn't in the mood. I turned to my friend and looked deeply into his eyes.

"Who were my parents?" I probed bluntly.

"Well, you know that answer yourself, Daughter of Mischief!" he wheezed in laughter. I certainly did not think this was a time to make a joke about my relation to Loki, and when he saw that I did not share in his mirth, he paused to ask, "Surely?"

"I thought I did!" I let out in a huff, overcome with frustration, "But then when I was in Hedeby with Björn, he made it sound like there was something I didn't know about them and that whatever it was, it was a cause for danger."

Floki's countenance became much more severe as I gave my account. He focused his gaze on me with all the powers of concentration he had. "What do you remember from when you were young?" he questioned.

"Truthfully, not much," I offered unhelpfully, "My first real memories are of you and Siggy and Aslaug. I barely remember my father since he was away so much with King Ragnar."

"So you remember nothing of the cave?"

"What cave?"

Floki heaved a sigh and leaned back to tell me a great deal. I mirrored his actions, settling in for the story that would reveal more about my lineage.

"Before you were born, Hel, there was talk," he began, "Talk that your mother was not a faithful woman to your father."

I moved my shoulders slightly in discomfort at the thought of my mother being the subject of harsh scrutiny in Kattegat, but still I listened.

"There was a traveler who had come to the village—a strange man," Floki couldn't help but giggle at his reminiscence, "He had all of the women clawing after him, and your mother was no exception. It helped that all of us men were away raiding at the time. Well, when he left, your mother was with child and there was no hiding what she had done."

"Father saw her betrayal before his very eyes," I mused aloud. That poor man! I felt so guilty for what my mother had done to him, though I could hardly be held responsible. It explained why I saw so little of him even when he was in Kattegat for a short while. When the rest of the village raiders remained in Kattegat for a long period, my Father had always volunteered to transport messages to surrounding earldoms or venture out in hunting parties. I had thought he was an overly dutiful—albeit neglectful—parent. But all of that time he had actually been _avoiding_ me?

And yet, I faulted him nothing, for how could I? My very existence had been a reminder of my mother's infidelity. Oh, Gods, what a cruel beginning!

"Exactly right, my dear girl. And because of it, when it came time for him to put you on his knee and name you, he refused."

I gasped. It was a father's duty to name his child on the ninth day after their birth. It was a show of acceptance and love—that this babe would not be abandoned in the woods and left to die. To not name one's child was as good as a death sentence. The hurt must have been too much for my father to bear.

"How did I survive then?" I asked quietly. I would not allow myself to feel shame for an upbringing that I had no control over, but I certainly felt the sting of rejection in my heart.

"Ragnar named you at his Queen's request."

Parents naming a child who was not their own even when her father was still alive and well? I was grateful for it, but it felt like a violation of my father's right to own or disown his child.

"I don't understand, Floki. Why would they do something like that? For me?" I was utterly bewildered.

"I never knew much about why, my girl, but Aslaug seemed… _intent_ upon you," my fond mentor chuckled again, lowly this time.

"Where did my mother go—after she had me?" I questioned, my curiosity building the more I found out about my past.

"She followed after the traveler as soon as she could walk. She was found dead in the woods a short time after that," he recounted directly. I shook my head in disbelief.

What had she been thinking? Abandon me, abandon my father, and wander after some vagabond into the forest? It made no sense. "Was she that smitten with him that she would throw her life away?"

"She did that long before she left to seek the traveler. She threw her life away the moment she betrayed your father for him," he stated callously. I flinched a bit. Floki's eyes widened at the unintended effect, "But let us not forget the stunning girl we have before us because of it!" He let out a short whoop of laughter.

There was still one thing he hadn't explained. "What about the cave, Floki?"

Floki's dark eyes roamed the tree line swiftly and he drew closer to me before he allowed himself to speak. I leaned forward to hear his next words. "When you were three years of age, you disappeared. Vanished! Into thin air!" he cackled and made a fluttering gesture with his hands. "The whole village searched for you for nine days, but you could not be found. Some of us searched all the way to the lakes beyond the mountains and back, but still we could not find you."

"Well, where did I go?" I asked loudly, the suspense of the story getting to me. Floki made a gesture for me to quiet myself down as if he didn't want the spirits of the forest to hear our words.

"That's just it," he spoke quietly, "We could not find you until the ninth day when a woman gathering berries found you at the opening to a cave beneath the roots of an ancient tree. You were covered in dirt from head to toe, your clothes were all torn and turned to black, and in your hands you held a wooden snake. Your eyes looked as if they had seen all of Helheim and heard the screams of the dead. You spoke not a word to anyone nor made a single sound. You simply waited for us to come and get you."

So many questions arose in my head with every word Floki spoke—too many to even begin to voice aloud now. Where had I gone? Where had I gotten a toy snake? Had someone cared for me? Why had no one told me any of this before? I would need some time to review everything. There had to be much more to it than this. I felt something huge was slithering just below the surface of my consciousness, begging to be comprehended and released. I would unravel this mystery.

"I appreciate you telling me this, Floki," I managed a halfhearted smile and stood to be alone with my thoughts. The darkness had begun to seep into the forest, but I was far too preoccupied to feel any apprehension at the prospect of walking back the way I had come.

Helga came forward to embrace me, and I circled the fire pit soon after to place a comforting hand on Floki's shoulder. I leaned down and placed a quick kiss on his bald head. "May the Gods keep you," I whispered.

I took off at a leisurely pace into the shadowy tree line and crooked my head over my shoulder to cast one last glance at the extraordinary couple behind me. They each offered a wave in turn. I smiled in response and set off for Kattegat once more.

* * *

My head spun with unanswered questions as I walked back to the village center. Many of them would not be answered this night. It would take time and consultation with others. Things that my exhausted brain decided could be left for the morning.

For now, I would rejoin my kinsmen, feast a while, and then sleep once more—if I even could after spending all day abed. A fierce yawn escaped my throat at that exact moment, and I acknowledged that I could sleep for days if I were given half a chance.

The doors of the great hall parted to show the revelry inside, and I quickly scanned my surroundings. Aslaug was at the throne near Björn and her boys, though I only spotted Ubbe and Hvitserk. Ivar and Sigurd were nowhere to be found.

The youngest Ragnarson must've still needed time away to be with himself. No matter, I would seek some royal advice in his absence. His mother's to be exact. It was no secret that Ivar was the Queen's favorite son. Who could give me better insight than the only other woman in the world that Ivar might have confided in?

I approached her throne lightly with a renewed energy in my step. It was as if a whole new game was afoot, and I had secured the fastest route to victory. It almost seemed unfair! But that was how I liked to play.

"Queen!" I addressed her while simultaneously paying my respects to the new King with a head nod, "I feel as though I haven't seen you for some time."

"Hel," she purred affectionately, but made no move to embrace me. Aslaug was not one for frequent or useless touching. She was a woman abandoned in her youth and made hard because of it. She still possessed a certain kindheartedness, but made herself distant. I loved her anyway, especially now that I had newfound knowledge of her hand in my survival as a babe.

I moved closer to her seat so that I could speak without fear of the Ragnarsons overhearing me. "I was hoping to gain your advice concerning one of your sons."

Her black-rimmed eyes danced in the firelight. "Let me guess," she teased languidly and sipped at her ale, "Ivar."

I lowered my head in mock embarrassment. I could see Björn, Ubbe, and Hvite guessing at what we were conspiring about. "Yes, Queen."

"What about him?" she prodded.

"What does he find to be a show of loyalty?" I asked.

"No," she stopped me. I was taken aback, but she carried on, "What you mean is how do you make him trust you."

I nodded tersely.

Conversations with Aslaug were always like this. She knew what I meant even when I did not know it myself. I did not have to clarify my motives because she often knew them for me, and I could not lie to her because she saw right through the falsehoods. Odin made sure that his children gifted with the Sight were never duped.

At that moment, the doors to the great hall swung open once more, and band of warriors strolled in. They were not from Kattegat—that much was apparent. Instead of rising to challenge them, the hall broke out in a loud cry of joy at the newly arrived visitors. Ah, so they were our allies. They must've belonged to one of the earldoms the other Ragnarsons had visited.

Björn raised a cup to his guests as a sign of welcome, and they set into the food and drink straightaway. A few key leaders moved to join the King near the throne to make conversation. I noticed one last person enter the room out of the corner of my eye and raised my head to get a second glance out of passing curiosity.

Blonde hair fell in waves around crimson clad shoulders. Primrose lips turned upward in a smirk. Hands folded delicately across a supple waist.

The woman from the east.


	11. Signe

My mouth fell open in blatant shock; I could allow myself one moment of uninhibited emotion.

What on Midgard was she _doing_ here? The warriors she had arrived with were clearly there to contribute in some way to the campaign this coming summer in England, but by the looks of her, warring was not her preoccupation. The last time I had seen this woman, the Gods themselves had shown me her designs upon Ivar. Now she stood before me in the flesh, and I couldn't stop the ill feeling that wound its way from my stomach into my throat. I moved quickly from the throne to grip the wall and steady myself, casting the Queen Mother a brief look as an excusal.

The woman seemed to skirt about the room, taking part in conversations here and there, but never actually generating anything more than superficial connections with the people she selected to engage her. Or maybe that was my own tainted view of her doings. I doubted that I could see anything she did as genuine.

Even from a distance, I could inspect the finer details of her person—details that would easily be missed by the untrained eye. Soft hands, no callouses. Thin arms that failed to show the hard line of muscle through her dress. Fair-skinned face, chest, and shoulders; the sun had not ravaged her from too much time spent out of doors. She must've been a maidservant. One who eked out an existence by avoiding the labors of hard duty and preferring instead to provide her services in the bedchamber.

' _And how would others perceive you, child?_ ' Siggy's voice goaded me gently. I sighed loudly. She was right.

Presumption was the enemy of caution. Believing this woman weaker than she actually was could be a fatal folly on my part. I no doubt presented a similar visage, a young, unattached woman of my social standing. I would have to bide my time and learn more about her before acting out against her. One thing was certain: this woman—Signe, I had learned her name was—had an extremely small amount of time to prove herself useful in my eyes.

I realized with a start that I had been watching her for a great deal of time, and it was a small wonder no one had approached me where I remained anchored to the wall. I glanced side to side in an effort to discern how my surroundings had changed in the time since I had last taken an inventory only to find everything really about the same. Except for one glaring discrepancy.

Ivar had arrived.

* * *

Aslaug watched the scene before her unfold with almost comedic timing. She knew the roles of each and every player in this script, and play their parts they did. What small inclinations the Gods had graced her with were coming to pass in an overwhelmingly predictable fashion where her son and the Daughter of Mischief were concerned.

Ivar would have his dalliances as all Ragnarsons were wont to do. Conquerors seldom conquered tracts of land alone. It was in their voice, their eyes, their blood, and Aslaug had known it in her son for time now. Hel would come to learn that in time. She must if she ever meant to successfully set Ivar upon a vast throne.

Hel had a similar spirit—that much the Queen Mother could see, and yet it was inherently different all at once. Where Ivar was cruel, Hel was not. Where Ivar sought recognition and admiration, Hel went fleeing from it. She may have very well turned out exactly like Ivar—ambitious in the most grandiose and ostentatious of ways—but Aslaug had seen to it that she be reared otherwise.

Siggy had been the perfect answer to an imperfect question. How to raise a child of the divine in a world of mortals? Midgard was certainly not the natural dwelling place of such a young one, and it only made sense that her upbringing be wrought with various oddities and commotions. The village people of Kattegat had at first feared her, but the royal household made it abundantly clear that Hel was to be treated as any of them. In time, she grew up to be a beloved child of her people, thanks to Aslaug's tireless efforts.

A soft word here, a hard look there. These people would have crumbled if they knew of what the girl truly was. The only reason they had accepted a strange woman like Aslaug as Queen was because they understood her Sight could be of value to them in guiding Ragnar's future exploits to victory. They wouldn't have been able to fathom all of Hel's wonders. The girl barely knew them herself.

Then of course there had been the incident with Hel's disappearance and subsequent reappearance at the mouth of a cave. And just as Aslaug had begun to win her acceptance amongst the people…

In the end, it was the girl's natural charm that saved her. No doubt a gift from her father. Her smile made the people forget who they thought she was—who she actually was. Hel's laugh could smooth anyone's temper. It was what made her so well-suited for Ivar. Ivar with his wild temper and propensity for sullenness and rumination. He was her favorite son by far, but the title certainly did not originate from his behavior.

The Queen Mother glanced between Hel's hidden form and her son as he reclined near her own seat atop the wooden platform. She loved to play spectator to their interactions as they provided her the entertainment she so needed in these last days of her droll existence in Kattegat. She did not know exactly how it would be done, but Aslaug's Sight of her own lifeline simply stopped in the near future. There was no other explanation except for her own death, and she had come to accept it bitterly.

Her drinking habit had increased immensely to the point of embarrassment for her sons. Yet still she felt unashamed. It was her death, she mused ruefully. She would greet it how she saw fit.

Aslaug took comfort in the fact that her youngest son would be greatly cared for despite his tempestuous nature. She could see it quite obviously in the way the two moved about each other. Their bodies screamed hoarsely to each other across the void they had created out of youthful, misguided spite. Their brows strained the slightest bit as they kept their eyes trained anywhere else but the other. Such was to be expected; their bond was one orchestrated by the Gods. They were past redemption.

A bead of sweat worked its way from the nape of Aslaug's neck down to the base of her spine. The fire roared heartily this night…Small pleasures she would miss soon enough.

Aslaug breathed a morbid laugh and raised her goblet to her lips.

* * *

So he had finally decided to make his appearance… No doubt a result of his ambition winning out over his wounded pride. Word must've circulated in the village about the newcomers from the East, leading him to join the welcoming party.

I could only bear to look at him for a few moments before the tumult of emotions in my stomach threatened to brim over once more. He still hadn't spared me a glance, but I didn't mind remaining unnoticed. Considering our last interaction, I'd be fortunate to interact with him before _Ragnarok_. I'd have to draw him back in before then, of course. Men could never be left to their own faculties for so long.

"Something to drink?" a young man sitting amongst a group of warriors closeby offered me a cup brimming with ale.

This night—like so many others—was indeed a night for keeping my wits about me. Then again, if I were to subject myself to learning as much as possible about a woman whose existence I found completely unnecessary, why not enjoy myself a bit? One cup shouldn't be enough to spell my undoing, Gods willing.

"Thank you," I retrieved the drink from his hand gracefully and made sure to throw in a touch of sweetness for his benefit. The men around him guffawed and shouted while clapping him heartily on the back.

He was a man in the prime of his life, a time when every man is his strongest without much effort. He had soft blue eyes, hair that burned red like the sun, and strong hands. He had never seen battle before, of that I was sure, for he bore no scars or hard lines in his face. He would see his share of hardship in the conquest to come.

A slew of images assaulted my mind at that moment. Most of them centered around a quiet life filled with ample happiness. Slow winter mornings where we both dared not to rise from bed to brave the cold. Babes tucked underneath my arms as the other copper-haired children ran about the fields in the mild summer. No worry. No resentment. No anger. Just simple living with a man I could learn to love…after some time. I blinked to free myself of the visions.

That was not the path I had chosen, nor was it the one that the Gods had chosen for me. I did not yearn for a quiet life because I was not made for it. Desire reveals one's design, and I desired victory above all. I was made to succeed in this life so that I may please the Gods in the next.

As if he had known of my guilty thoughts, Ivar began to move with his newly-fashioned iron picks noisily to join his brothers near the throne at the front of the room. I watched him closely despite the young warrior at my right attempting to make conversation at his friends' insistence. I whipped my head around to make an excuse to exit, leaving the poor lad with a stunned expression upon his face. I felt almost sorry. Maybe in a different life.

Ivar was taking his time in moving across the great open space, and my attention focused on him greater and greater with every discordant drive of his picks into the wooden floor. No one seemed to pay him any mind and instead carried on with their merriment, but I could _feel_ him from where I stood on the wall at the opposite end of the room. His was a slow-burning anger; it rolled off of him in waves that then flowed over me. It was worse than any frustration he might've felt during one of our many heated exchanges. Then, he had been merely reacting without much time for deep rumination. Now he had had plenty of time to explore every dark, sick way in which he hated what I'd done. He seemed to be seething in a barely controlled way—his countenance held tightly together like a bow pulled taut. The slightest provocation would sent him into a rage.

I allowed the shadows to draw me in further, away from the torch lights that kep the hall bright. I would play no part in his undoing this evening.

He made it to the front of the room to take up a place near his Sigurd, Ubbe, and Hvite, and quickly began to scan the room with a fierce, hawk-like gaze.

I couldn't help the pride that swelled in my chest when he failed to find me, if I was even truly the object of his avid search. My skills weren't so far gone as I thought!

I had only a small amount of time for internal celebration, though, when Ivar's stare stopped abruptly at the far end of the room. I followed his eyes slowly, half-convinced that I already knew what awaited on the other end of his gaze.

I was right.

 _Her._ Signe.

But what did Ivar think about her reappearance? I whirled my head back around to find out.

His eyebrows had risen slightly in surprise only to furrow shortly thereafter. He was more than likely puzzling over the circumstances of her arrival. Looking back to where the blond-haired woman stood amongst a group of her North Men companions, I was able to witness her head lifting to finally make eye contact with her scrutinizer.

She wasn't caught off guard in the slightest; she had been watching for his appearance since she arrived. The conniving louse.

I felt my cheeks redden, and my hand tightened around the mug it held. I could remotely her the strain of the wood under the increasing pressure. The moment of truth was upon me—one more slight turn of the head to bring Ivar back into my line of sight.

He was smirking.

He recognized her, of course, for how could he not?

All the unwanted emotions I had buried in Hedeby came rushing into my chest once more. Still, I managed to keep a cool exterior, numbness being the greatest feeling of all.

Any other time, I would have decided to retreat. To collect my thoughts, assess my options, and act in the most logical way possible. Not now.

Kattegat would not become the place where I regularly ran. It was my home, the seat of my ambitions. Everyone else could go to Hel for all I cared.

My resolution did not come to fruition quickly enough, however, as Ivar chose this moment to turn his sadistic gaze on me. His expression didn't change a bit. He _knew._

He had known I was standing off to the side observing him closely all along. He wanted me to know he still looked on that woman favorably.

His smirk widened into a wide, threatening grin. His eyes hurt in their intensity. He was _dangerous_.

My hands shook, but still I felt nothing. It was his way of assuring me I was far from forgiven. My suffering at his hands had only just begun. I should really have been searching for a way to appease him, strike back, anything. But sickeningly, I was just pleased he allowed some of his focus on me. This was a starting point from which I could work my way back into his favor. I knew it. It had to be so.

I heard a small laugh emit from the front of the room and turned abruptly to discern its source. I took in the sight of the Queen Mother covering her mouth with a lazy hand, her eyes filled with listless mirth.

I'd been caught.

No doubt Aslaug could read every single thought as it passed through my mind unbidden. I schooled my features to a look of feigned indifference, though I couldn't help the quirk at the corner of my lips that came with being so hapless yet again. The Queen Mother released another breath in laughter at my childish antics. All previous emotional stirring was immediately banished at her smiling attentions, and I beamed brightly at her.

This was the woman I remembered from my younger years; not the abandoned wife who had turned too aptly to the drink in her King's absence.

I did not have to spend the entire evening skulking in the shadows. What better vantage point had I to conduct my observation of the blonde-haired woman than the throne itself? Perhaps Aslaug could offer me her insights while I played at stoicism. I moved easily to retake my former position at her side.

Moving soundlessly toward the elevated platform, I looked up to the King as I passed his reclining form. He rested his full cup on one arm of his seat and motioned to me to draw nearer with his other hand.

"Yes, King," I greeted respectfully. I had not forgotten his warning from earlier in the woods.

"You have spoken to Floki?" Björn gazed deeply into my eyes as if trying to learn the information before I could speak it aloud.

"Yes, King," I responded unhelpfully. I would see if he revealed anything himself in his inquiry. I couldn't help but smile coyly.

"And?" he prodded, a tiny smirk gracing his lips as well.

"And I don't understand why you couldn't have told me any of this sooner. Really, Björn. A wanderer, a cave, and a snake—was it _that_ hard?" I chastised jokingly.

He became gravely serious in an instant. "The Gods and their doings should not be taken so lightly. You of all people should understand that, Hel."

"I fear the Gods just as you, Björn, but what makes you think that I have any special connection to them?"

The King looked unimpressed. "You forget I witnessed it firsthand. Your _fylgur_ in the woods, remember? And your nighttime dealings with Nòtt and her mare?" he leveled a calculating stare at me, but seemed almost amused as he did it, "Did you think I would be so quick to forget?"

"I cannot hide what I am," I offered with a shrug. I reached out to rest a hand on the King's empty hand, "Floki told me what he knows—what everyone else knew besides me. I thank you for leading me to him, but there are still so many questions I have that are left unanswered." I sighed and let my hand fall from his. Björn reached out swiftly to snap it up once more and pull me close so only I could hear him. I saw Aslaug sneer from her seat nearby. He bent his mouth next to my ear before speaking again.

"Who sees all without seeing?"

I leaned back, my eyes wide in understanding.

At that moment, a sharp howl pierced the air causing many of the partygoers to jump or shout in surprise. I knew that howl—it was Garmsen.

I rushed from my position next to the King and headed toward the door of the great hall to enter the unforgiving night.

* * *

 **A/N: For those of you who continue to offer me a sincere word of appreciation or constructive criticism: thank you. You cannot begin to understand how much I need to hear your words to keep this work going. I do not apologize for my delay in writing, but it was in my absence that the story finally came together somewhat in my mind. Life happens, and I cannot be sorry for that. Just know that it is your dedication to this story when I fail that continues to draw me back. Hold onto your seats, it's going to be a bumpy ride! :)**

 **Ragnarok - The End of Days**

 _ **Fylgur - Familiar**_


	12. The Seer

Máni gleamed brightly as he traversed the late night sky, shining enough of his celestial light to illuminate a path in the undergrowth. I was thankful for this, and I would not allow myself a moment's pause in my endeavor. I heard Garmsen's low, mournful howl come barreling toward me once more in the darkened forest, and I increased my pace to a full on run.

Past the buried rocks covered in moss—playthings of the Jötunn in the tales of old. Over the bubbling creek from which the village children drew water. I made sure to ignore the violin siren song of Nix as I hurtled myself over his domain in the bubbling waters below. Past the gaping hole in the root of a giant oak, King of the Forest—

I froze midflight and turned my head fully to the left.

I had not been mistaken. There, amidst the immense grey crags that wove together its massive trunk and nestled snugly into the ground, was an opening. It was large enough to fit a boar and all I could see inside was a bottomless, black _nothing_. Light entered there, but it could not leave. There were no footprints around it; the ground was perfectly untouched. What could live there? Surely no animal had crept past its seemingly ominous opening to call home.

I felt the ethereal pull in my blood, something I hadn't felt as often since my return to Kattegat. Though my skin pricked with goose bumps and the fine hairs on my arms stood up, I felt thoroughly at ease with the return of this sorely missed sensation. My body told me to go, to run, to get as far from this monstrous construction as I possibly could. But my spirit urged me closer. I took a step toward the entrance with bated breath.

Two green, glowing orbs erupted from the endless gloom. The stark contrast was maddening, and I let out a sort of scream of laughter. Though my fear increased tenfold, I still felt I did not have to be threatened by what lay on the other side of the mouth of the cave.

What on Midgard could this beast be? And why did I feel such an affinity for it? Like we were kindred spirits?

A slow, enticing hiss wound its way from where I imagined the creature's mouth to be, and I reached a shaking hand tentatively toward the opening.

Garmsen's howl cut into my hazy thoughts, more urgently this time. I whipped my head in his direction before turning back to the cave yet again. Except now I only saw the solid trunk of the oak.

The hole was gone. Vanished from the earth.

I did not look around for it, but I knew it was definitely gone—along with whatever ghastly animal lay inside. Or maybe it had just disappeared from my mortal sight. I had no idea what had just happened or what I was even doing crouched over the trunk of an old tree, but I had to continue my journey to the Seer. I'd have plenty of time to muse over the puzzling series of events that had occurred later. There were answers to be had now, and they certainly seemed a better course of action than finding more questions.

I stood and ran from the oak to break through a line of trees into a small clearing. There was a wooden hut adorned in bands of black fabric and various pieces of animal bones to signify whose home this was. No trespasser would dare cross the magic these trinkets possessed. It was next to the skull of a horned deer that I spotted Garmsen.

He had been awaiting my arrival for some time—that much I could see, and he leapt from the stone where he sat with a whimper.

"It's alright, boy. I'm here now," I cooed lovingly while stroking his dark fur. Even though he was merely a dog, he was also my fylgur, and I sensed the utter relief in his limbs at my appearance.

"You guided me here at Her behest, didn't you, Garmsen?" I questioned fondly while referring to the Daughter of Mischief. I could think of no other explanation for his behavior.

"The companion often travels ahead of its owner," a raspy drawl called from the hut's opening. I gasped but relaxed when I saw the familiar visage the Seer presented.

His eyes had been removed and replaced with sockets covered in sunken flesh, his lips were stained black, and his sprawling dark cloak hung in tatters around him. I remembered as a child all the children being so severely scared around the Seer, but not me. I always felt strangely calm around him. When Aslaug explained to the children why they should not be afraid of this gifted man and all that he did for Kattegat, I felt separate. I knew his eyes were not there so that he could better see the Gods and their doings. He had so much power, and I was overly admiring of his condition. Siggy tried to keep me away whenever I made up my mind to venture to his area of the forest, but it always turned out to be useless. For whenever I felt the urge to see him but could not slip away under Siggy's watchful gaze, he appeared as sure as Sól flew through the sky each day. The oddest thing, that, now that I came to think on it.

"Come inside, child," he moved soundlessly to enter the doorway, hanging links of bones making a clatter after him. I smiled and followed after giving a final pat on Garmsen's head.

I watched him take a seat upon his usual mess of furs on the floor and waited for his soundless permission before seating myself opposite him on a low wooden stool.

"Your other self brought you here," he observed without much care.

"He did," I replied in kind. The silence stretched on for a few moments, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

"You wish to know of your future," he posed.

"Partly," I conceded.

A pause. "And your past."

I nodded.

"What do you wish to know, girl?" There were so many gaps in my knowledge that I didn't know where to begin. I chose the first thing that came to mind.

"How did Ivar and I come to be—"

"That is not the question you wish to ask," he interrupted. Several more moments passed unhurriedly. There was no avoiding asking what I truly wanted to know. What Garmsen led me here to find out.

"Why have the Gods chosen me?" I asked quietly. Was that even the question I wanted to ask? With every resistance Ivar mounted, I doubted my divine right more and more. I thought he and I were past minor quarrels and issues of slight. I thought we had an understanding—an agreement—that petty doings of mortals were no longer our concern. But his reaction to my misdeed with Björn had changed my mind completely.

"You already know that," he responded impatiently.

"Do I?" The only inclination that I was grasping to now was that I was somehow a descendant of the divine, but there was no way that I could truly be—

"Do not be so quick to doubt the Gods…or their infinite ability to meddle in the lives of mortals," he cut into my traitorous musings.

I recalled Floki's recounting of my mother's affair and subsequent demise in following her beloved traveler.

"Who was he?" I did not preface the question. I was sure the Seer knew my thoughts more intimately than I did; he did not require qualification.

"He _is_ one of those whom you bring honor now," came his vague correction. I searched my mind for an answer. The embers in his hearth crackled with the last sparks of life.

"One of the Æsir? Surely not," I stated, bewildered. The Seer did not speak, and I could sense that he was waiting for me to carry on with my mad thoughts. At least, they seemed mad to me.

"Odin," I guessed halfheartedly. Odin had been known to take on human form to make love to women across Midgard. It would certainly explain my mother's erratic misgivings about her wandering lover; she had been under his spell.

The Seer barked in laughter only to have it replaced by profuse coughing shortly thereafter. Served him right for making fun of my best conjecture.

"That was not your best, by far," he chastised, his voice gravelly with strain.

Who else could it be if not Odin? One of his monikers was 'Odin the Wanderer,' for Asgard's sake! I rattled at the cage of my mind with all of the strength I could muster. The Seer sighed and leaned back to observe my inner struggle.

"You've noticed your skills deteriorating lately, have you not?" My, he was blunt.

"Yes," I admitted in defeat, "First the ability to avoid detection, then the ability to keep my emotions hidden. Allfather, I can't even lie anymore!" I exclaimed. The exasperation was written all over my face, yet still the Seer did not seem sympathetic.

"You have been relying upon your own powers for too long. You only call on the Gods when you feel at a loss. The Gods are not to be used so heedlessly, especially not by their own child," he reprimanded while outstretching his hand, white palm toward the roof, "Give it here."

"Give what here?" I asked confusedly. I searched his face while he refused to answer. His black mouth upturned in a grim smile. _Black_.

"Oh," I jumped slightly in realization and reached inside the folds of my dress to the secret pocket that guarded the Hel stone. I retrieved it from its resting place and handed it over, still unsure of what the Seer intended to do.

"What do you see?" he inquired of the stone. I scanned its small dark façade as it lay flat in his palm. I shook my head in perplexity.

"I see nothing," I answered honestly. His smile grew wider.

"What do you see now?" he asked and flipped the stone in his hand with a flick of his wrist. My eyes grew wide in shock.

There, on what was once a smooth surface, was now an intricate carving. Somehow, the tiny stone now contained what looked like a circle surrounded by alternating symbols atop eight pikes originating from the drawing's center. These symbols looked like snowflakes and deer's heads in turn, but I couldn't be sure.

Goodness, they were so small! No human hand could have put them there, of that I had no doubt.

"Where did that _come from_?" I questioned out loud.

Ignoring my words, the Seer stood and trudged over to a perch in the corner of the room. A large raven sat atop it with feathers that shone so black they looked almost blue. It was deathly quiet and refused to make a sound. That could have been how I had managed to miss such a majestic bird—a portent of Odin's presence on Midgard—in the same room. As the Seer lifted an arm to the perch, the raven hopped lightly to settle upon it, and soon the pair moved to retake the man's former position on the furs.

"Give me your hands," he ordered. There was no time for fear now; the divine were present. I extended my hands blindly, and the Seer took the left first.

Pain shot from the pad of my pointer and down my hand.

"Ow!" I shouted without much thought. I looked down to see a bloodied threading needle in the Seer's grip. He moved my bleeding finger over a flat pan seated on a stump near the long-dead fire and squeezed. I sucked in air through my teeth at the mild, throbbing pain as three solid drops of blood landed in the pan. Soon enough, he did the same with my right hand.

I could see his lips moving, but no sound escaped. He withdrew a long ceremonial knife from one of his sleeves, and as if he had commanded it to, the raven moved from his arm to the same pan that held my blood. One nod in the direction of the bird, and the Seer thrust the knife into its heart. I flinched. Still the bird did not make a sound. I counted precisely six drops from the creature's still beating heart that intermingled with my own.

The Seer grabbed a handful of ash from the hearth and cast it back in with a yell. The fire roared to life, and I couldn't help the sigh of awe that escaped my lips. He slowly lifted the pan over the burning flames, his hand seemingly immune to the heat that I felt from my seat a few feet away. I could smell the iron-like aroma as it started to burn in the pan. The Seer waved his free hand over the mixture a few times before sitting back down. He lifted the Hel stone, and placed it with the carving facedown in the burnt liquid.

I watched, transfixed. I realized that I had not moved since we had started this whole process, I was so engrossed in the whole affair.

The magic of it was breathtaking to behold. This was magic like I had barely come to know, like the runes. This was magic of the Gods. I could die of happiness.

The Seer motioned me closer as he lifted the stone from its place in the pan. I inhaled excitedly. There was a moment's pause before he placed the stone's now blood-filled carving against my forehead.

I thought the stone would burn since it had been removed from the fire only moments before, but instead I felt a cool essence. It was a quiet strength—a determination—that spread outward and down from my head emitting all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes. My chest swelled with pride, and I knew no fear. I closed my eyes and savored it.

And somehow even with my eyes closed, I could see a bright green light surrounding me. When I opened my eyes, it wasn't there. Yet when I closed my eyes, there it was again.

"What is this—?"

"The Sight," he replied, again speaking before needing to hear what I had to say. He waited a few moments before speaking as I became more comfortable with the powers that had been conferred on me, "That is one of the many abilities you have always had, you just have not been aware of it. You have not trusted the Gods to allow you to use it." It seemed the more he spoke, the less answers I got.

"What else can I do?"

"You have been given the Hulinhjálmur. A gift from the Shapeshifter God himself."

"The helm of disguise. From Loki," I mused aloud, "Does that mean I can—?"

"The Gods will always smile on brave women—like the Valkyries, whose furies men fear…and desire," he contested vaguely. If he hadn't just bestowed one of the most coveted gifts from the Gods upon me, I would be incredibly tired of all this interrupting he was doing.

Apparently we had reached the natural end of our encounter as he reached out his palm to me once more. I took it while looking deeply into where his eyes should be, communicating my silent thanks. As a final show of gratitude I licked his palm, the only form of payment this wise man cared for.

I lifted myself from the wooden stool and walked leisurely to the doorway. My hand made its way blindly to the marking on my forehead; I did not truly comprehend what had just taken place. I knew the significance of it all, but I did not _feel_ it. I did not feel different.

I exited the hut to have Garmsen rejoin my side. I patted him still in a daze.

"Thank you for leading me here," I breathed. I felt like I was still Hel, but if what the Seer had said was true, then I had just become more. _So_ much more.

How could I be sure?

A gust of wind swept through the clearing sending the collections of bones, baskets, and shields into a swelling cacophony. I felt something coming. It was headed directly toward me. I did not turn around as I heard a loving feminine whisper in my ear.

"Go."

All of the pent up energy that had been suppressed during the ritual unleashed itself with full force and I took off sprinting back through the woods. There were tremendous things to be done this night.

* * *

 **I know, not so much Ivar. But trust me, these are things that must happen in order to make the story _that_ much more exciting in the future. I appreciate all of you who take the time read/like/follow/review this story. I feel blessed writing for you!**

 **I'll be heading out of town for a little over a month, but fear not! I'll be writing this story as a means of relief during my travels, so expect an update in August.**

 **I can't wait to hear what you think :)**

 **Máni – Personification of the moon**

 **Jötunn – The Giants**

 **Nix – Water Spirit**

 **Fylgur – Familiar Spirit**

 **Sól – Personification of the sun**

 **Æsir – The principal group of Gods in Norse mythology**

 **Hulinhjálmur – A magical sign meaning 'helm of disguise' ( 2009/01/bjork-tattoo-norse-magic-symbols/)**


	13. Hel's Appearance

My breath turned to willowy-wisp kisses to Njord on the wind as I struggled to recapture my composure. The air had become frigid in the early hours of the morning. I stood motionless before the high window of the great hall as I assessed the scene within.

Apparently a great deal of time had elapsed in my absence. The embers of the hearth glowed bravely in their last moments of life. Furniture was strewn haphazardly about or upturned altogether belying the intensely festive nature of the party that had ended long ago.

'Well, are we going to stand here all night?' my own thoughts broke the trance I had placed myself under, and I padded softly into the entrance of the hall. I had no idea how to implement the gift I had just been given, so what other choice did I have than to let the new dawn greet me with ideas of its own? There would be plenty of time to exercise my abilities in the near future. For now, rest was in order.

Within moments of stepping into the hall, I spied a male figure sitting atop the throne at the far end of the room. Despite my eyes adjusting to the surrounding darkness, I failed to see his face clearly. No doubt it was the King basking in the afterglow of our first steps toward a united English invasion.

He did not greet me, and I did not greet him. We stayed silent, one watching the other, a game of feigned ignorance.

'Unusual,' I noted, but I did not break the spell with mere words.

With one tiny staccato footfall I had moved myself from a position near a window, shielding myself from the iridescent moonlight spilling through. I had joined in the dance of obscurity that the young King had started. We were at each other's mercy to keep the game alive.

I rounded one of the many tables taking care not to step too hastily and lose my footing.

Some absentminded partygoer had left what looked to be a fully charged mug of ale on the wooden surface closest to me, and raising it off the table, I lifted it in a gesture of cheer to the ever motionless Björn, "Skol."

Without hesitation, the King raised his own cup lazily and took a neat sip in return. I still could not make out his expression through the dimness, but I imagined his features betrayed something akin to amusement.

A few more light, noiseless steps in his direction and I was almost directly in front of the throne. Nothing but the raised nature of the platform upon which his seat rested separated us now. And still he refused to utter a sound. I was enjoying this uncharacteristically silent version of him—it created a tense atmosphere that only added to the suspense of our play in the shadows. Björn was able to keep quiet when the situation called for it, but those instances were few and far between. I imagined this was one of them.

I watched him for a few more long moments; neither of us moved. I could only see the glint of Máni's rays in his eyes, but nothing more. I doubted if I was even breathing for a time.

I could have borne the silence for a mite longer, but my effusive nature got the better of me.

"What are you still doing here alone and unafraid in the dark, King?" I asked him teasingly. Time passed on unhurriedly for a while before I realized he wasn't going to answer… Odd.

Usually Björn would not hesitate at an opportunity to jest and bicker with me. I cocked my head to the side as I took in his faint visage once more. I knew he wasn't asleep because he had just joined me in a toast. His broad shoulders took up most of the throne upon which he sat just as they always did. What was he playing at then?

I stepped up confidently onto the platform, bathing myself in a stray moonbeam and inching ever closer to his reclining figure. I made ready to grasp his hand where it rested at his side.

"Björn?" I probed cautiously.

A throaty growl made its way to my ears, low yet full of anger and loathing.

 _What?_

The figure thrust its body forward with alarming speed and reached out to grab the bust line of my dress, yanking me into a face which burned with all the madness and danger of Gullveig herself.

Ivar. Teeth bared, nostrils flaring, and eyes wild.

He held me close with his one hand so I was forced to take in every frightening detail of his ferocious mood.

"Have you come to visit your dear King then, sweet Hel?" he seethed. If his demeanor hadn't been fearsome enough, the use of my name in a term of endearment was downright terrifying. My shocked mind grasped failingly at the meaning of his intrusive, overbearing presence, but came up with nothing. If anything, I felt betrayed by my Goddess who had sent me here.

'Trickster,' I thought disparagingly, daring to send an angry word at her in my state of pure terror.

Mocking peals of laughter tumbled through the great hall like bells ringing in a distant monastery. A torrent of dying leaves on the wind.

For a moment I was convinced the sound was only present in my addled mind, but shortly after it began, I saw Ivar's eyes grow wide and begin to search the dark space around us. His head whipped this way and that, misunderstanding (not fear) clouding his features.

Ivar never did so easily succumb to fright. He only ever failed to understand some things, and when that happened, he would do everything in his power to grasp it. Draw it in kicking and screaming, tear it open until it split at the seams revealing every gory, nasty part of its insides to him. It was in his searching, prying stare that I truly understood my Goddess's purpose in sending me into the serpent's jaws.

"You hear her, don't you, Ivar?" I questioned. Our problems would not be solved this night, but given my newfound divine blessing at the Seer's hand, I certainly had an idea of how to proceed with the violent Ragnarson that loomed before me.

"I know that you do," I prodded further when he refused to speak or look at me. His eyes remained glued to the space behind me—watching, penetrating, anticipating.

Suddenly his blue-green orbs locked onto a spot directly over my left shoulder. At the exact same time the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. An icy breeze crawled across my shoulders and through my free locks of hair. I could see the golden brown ends sway gently back and forth in response. I sensed more than saw a snaking emerald haze loop itself around my neck and down my arm. Slowly, creeping its way ever so delicately like a spider web weaving itself.

I was not afraid. It always seemed like the further into the supernatural I was thrown, the more at peace I felt. I always had the most difficult time remembering that the Gods were a fickle bunch. Their favor came and went with the wind, and we mortals would do well to err on the side of caution. Look at what they had done to my family, after all.

Yet I still believed in some version of divine right. In fidelity to my Goddess, and only my Goddess. My position of favor was a bit more certain than others'. Everyone in the world was capable of doing what I was doing; I had simply been lucky enough to be chosen.

The green mist had surrounded my entire body now, lending itself to the strength pulsing through my limbs. I watched Ivar absently, seeing the recognition dawning on his livid features.

I knew who had materialized behind me; I didn't need to turn around to see her. The Daughter of Mischief was here. And she had chosen to make herself known not only to me—her devoted follower, but Ivar as well. A man who was stubbornly blind to the divine. To him, the Gods were standoffish arbitrators of fate. They were not beings that made themselves readily known, especially not to mortals. He explained every encounter away until he was forced to choke on it. It was evident in the slight twinge of dread that snapped quickly like lightning over his face.

Curiosity tickled the hairs on the back of my neck. I had never seen my Goddess in the flesh. Would this be my only opportunity?

Though I swore that I craned to take in the deity behind me, my body did not move. Something was holding me firmly and thoroughly in place. If Hel wanted me to see her, she would have to let me.

Then, an urge to speak overtook me. It must not have been my own.

"Forgive the intrusion, son of Ragnar," the Goddess breathed through my mouth. As I spoke, I heard a higher, more powerful voice accompanying my own with all of the souls of Helheim behind it. Ivar's eyes widened substantially as they shifted from the spot behind me to my face. I had been completely consumed by the green cloud now, and it had morphed into a brilliant light all around me. It must have shown forth from my own eyes, making for a ghastly sight indeed. Hel and I carried on, single-minded now.

"When will you stop this game of futility?" we asked loudly.

"I…" he started and then paused, taken aback. We barely waited before pouncing again.

"There is no need for useless supplication. I will speak, and you will listen." Ivar released his hold on my collar looking ever more ill at ease. We pressed on.

"I believe it was you who once vowed my daughter would suffer if she ever forgot she was yours." With every passing word, Ivar looked increasingly flustered, embarrassed to have his own words thrown back in his face. The Goddess' mocking tone didn't help in the slightest, "You are no better than what you yourself have crusaded so rashly against. We reap what we sow, Ivar the Boneless. Remember that in the coming days, or I assure you that your toils will be for naught."

He seemed thoroughly irate at this point, and I couldn't help the satisfaction seeping into my spine. In its wake though, came a recession of the divine spirit occupying my body. My Goddess was leaving—off to resume her post as guardian of the dead. She had spent enough time meddling in the affairs of mortals, no matter how much pleasure it brought her.

'Thank you,' I sent her a solitary prayer for her intervention. No doubt it was a far cry from my consternated word to her before. Progress would not have been made without her presence here this night. Ivar had to see the divine forces he was acting out against when he slighted me to ease his wounded pride.

All at once, the green light occupying the ends of my vision disappeared with an audible _snap_ , leaving no trace of the Goddess' icy visit in its wake. I continued to observe Ivar, unsure of how he would handle his interaction with a fabled deity.

His breathing had become erratic and his eyes scanned the ground rapidly as if attempting to apply sound logic to everything he had just experienced. I declined to speak; I was sure I would only add to the chaos raging in his mind if I tried interjecting myself.

Silly boy. Reason was a fool's errand in our world.

In all his searching, it appeared that he could not find sense. The Guardian of Helheim's presence had been too great, too overwhelming for his generally earthbound thoughts to bear. In that moment of utter confusion, he snapped his wild eyes to meet my own, and he looked (dare I believe it?) _betrayed._

He shrunk back on the throne to put some distance between us. Away from me. Away from the only tangible vessel at which to direct his ire.

He shortly thereafter made ready to leave, hurt freely coloring his features. This was not the strong man I knew. The Goddess' presence had done something to him—shifted his being on a fundamental level. He was undone.

Much like I was undone when I was so easily cast out from my place at his side on the day that preceded this. The only difference was that I had known the divine and received their aid and blessing to attack the world of the living anew. Perhaps Ivar wasn't undergoing so drastic a change, but he still had to accept the Gods' correction unto himself. He had to if he ever meant to be successful in this life. The Norns would not be so easily escaped.

As he moved down from the throne, my hand twitched with an irresistible desire to reach out and touch his shoulder. To provide him some small semblance of comfort while the world as he knew it crashed carelessly around him.

'Let him go, girl,' came Hel's timely command.

I knew that Ivar needed to hear everything that the Goddess had to say, but it was still slightly discomforting to see him leave with the problem yet unresolved.

I would let him have his time. Let him regain what senses he had just lost. Let him see what mistakes he had made, same as me.

And, Gods above, let him come back to me.

* * *

My bedchamber beckoned me from the far end of the hall, and given the small hour of the morning, I had no choice but to answer its call. I expected respite and a chance to rest my addled mind, but I was given none.

Though the night air was cool outside, my chamber was cramped and stifling. The high window did nothing to abate the heat that strangled me. I thought I might lie awake until morning when sleep overtook me suddenly and silently.

That night my mind's eye saw traces of blood on snow, a black dog padding through a castle, and a cross bathing in flames.

* * *

The morning sun promised all the brightness of ideas I had been lacking the night prior. Björn had chosen this day to begin planning for the coming campaign, and I would be damned if I was going to miss such a vital opportunity to prove myself worthy.

Yet even with such an ambitious agenda, I could not oust the sleep from my eyes. Judging by the appearance of the bed sheets, my dreams had caused me to toss and turn for the majority of the night. I sighed heavily in defeat and looked up to a shelf lining the opposite wall. My eyes stopped on a small, cavernous wooden box covered in runic carvings. It was another gift from Floki, given to me on my ninth birthday—the holy year.

Standing slowly, stretching, and reaching toward the container, I plucked it off the shelf and promptly sat back down with a loud exhale. I had not been this tired in a long while, and I needed to gain coherence if I expected to be successful today.

Opening the case's lid revealed a few sets of earrings, bracelets, and an ornate comb created from the bone of an elk. Hidden in the center of the bottom of this tray was a small peg fashioned to look like a knot in the wood that encircled it. Pushing it down, it sprang back up to a height that allowed me to pull it out completely. Now I could then pull the tray from the box altogether, revealing another compartment below containing several glass vials.

I tenderly dragged my fingertips over the tops of the vials. These miniature bottles themselves were considered rare valuables in the world of the North, but it was their contents that made them priceless.

Each vial held some herb, powder, or substance necessary for curing ailments, focusing the mind, or stopping the heart. It had taken me years to garner so vast a collection. It was best kept in such a small, unassuming box; pilfering thieves often found themselves attracted to larger, more resplendent objects—I took full advantage of that. The hidden compartment was a merely a secondary line of defense.

I glanced at the three recent additions to my collection—those items secured in the monastery from our first raid on English soil. I had since determined their use on a few rabbits and birds in various trials. A purveyor of death should know her instruments as well as her own nature.

The monkshood was the most effective, but based on the behavior of the animals I observed, it seemed they could taste something quite bitter. I could only imagine that this root would produce an obvious taste making it a likely candidate for detection. The other two, foxglove and deadly nightshade, produced similar results, though its seemed the nightshade was much more potent in smaller doses.

But it was not these deadly tools I was after, no; I was looking for something much milder and more positive in effect. I reached in to withdraw a vial containing what looked to be the needles of one of the evergreen trees that filled the surrounding forests. Removing the leather sheet over the opening that helped to preserve freshness, I placed the vial under my nose and inhaled deeply. It even smelled like pine, but I knew it was not. This held far more worth.

This was the Rose of Mary. The herb of remembrance and mental clarity. I trusted it and had used it many times before to regain my senses when my body failed to provide the focus I needed naturally. It may have been a plant of the Christians, but they were certainly correct in their use of it. With one inhale, I already felt some of the early morning fog leaving my mind.

It was time to plan a victory for the North Men.

* * *

Before her untimely demise, Siggy had taught me a great deal of things. She taught me indiscreet ways to snag a man's attention. She also taught me the discreet ways to gain a woman's. No one was off limits in the pursuit of survival. These were clever tricks, of course, carried out as a means of gaining knowledge. Information kept one person alive just as swiftly as it killed another. Action would not give me the upper hand when it came to Signe and her wiles; knowledge would.

I would have to watch her. Paying Ivar any mind would be a foolish waste of energy. He was gone from my trust and I from his for now. A great loss, but not a permanent one. I could not think on the notion of never gaining it back. I had to recover it simply because it could not be otherwise.

'I will not allow it to be so,' my mind feverishly grasped at any semblance of firmness in this lonely thought. The issue of our dispute was of no consequence—merely another matter for another time.

With newfound determination, I marched out from the bedchamber where it adjoined the Queen Mother's own. I used to have an obligation to tend to her needs in the morning, but she really hadn't held me responsible since my return from the English venture with her sons. And based on our mostly unspoken exchanges, I understood now that she considered me more an arbiter of fate than a fledgling maid. My talents were needed in more important places.

Luckily, I didn't have to venture far before I stumbled upon the leader's gathering. The young King stood broadly with his fists resting on the table in front of him. Nobles of all ranks and from all across the Northlands took up positions around the same table, some fetching a better view than others.

I found Floki's dark-rimmed eyes floating amongst the crowd as well. They danced across those around him, judging them all in an instant. His giggle rose up every now and again, bringing me comfort with every ringing peal.

Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd stood at varying intervals from the action in the center. Truth be told, it seemed as if Ubbe was the only one who might be able to contribute anything of value to the planning. Hvite and Sigurd were not necessarily known for their way with details and learning; they were the executors—not the layers—of dreams.

Strikingly, Ivar had seated himself at the opposite end of the table to Björn where he could easily see the map. It was obvious he had no regard for whomsoever he had placed himself beside. North men were North men to him—all equal, all the same, rank be damned.

Yet an additional presence gave me pause. _Her_. Signe. Not only was she present, but she was practically enveloping Ivar as she draped her upper half across the top of his chair. For every word that passed over the table in an effort to generate viable options, she would dip her head down to his ear with a mischievous smile on her lips and whisper something to make him snicker. It was almost something that _I_ would do. Was she really so different?

'Enough of that.'

I expected some physical reaction, some adverse response to her uncanny _meddling_ , but surprisingly, nothing came. My hands did not shake, though I knew they wanted to. No overwhelming sadness to cloud my judgment and freeze my thoughts. It was as if my soul had finally taken over my actions, and I would no longer grow weary in dealing with Ivar's wrongdoing.

Rather than experiencing some unearthly sense of betrayal, I only felt pity for him. He was not much greater than a child, after all. He had so much to learn in the ways of people and their propensity toward manipulation. Though I had a feeling he knew perfectly well what this woman was doing to him. Ivar could not be so thick. Such was not his nature.

As if to confirm my suspicions, he looked up to me at that moment. His face was the absolute picture of smugness as he allowed Signe to coddle him some more. It was clear he had failed to heed the Goddess' warning. Whether by way of outright denial or vain disregard, I had yet to find out. We held eye contact for what felt to be ages, but still I remained purposefully calm.

He tried to goad me further. With a tilt of his head, his smirking features practically shouted, 'What are you going to do?'

If he expected me to react, he was sorely mistaken. I could do naught but smile dreamily; I failed to focus for long on the spectacle before me. My inner thoughts urged me onward to the task of setting a campaign plan.

Games such as the ones Ivar and Signe were playing were for bored children—children with time and a lack of purpose to deal with. I had to divest myself of their luring effects if I ever meant to rise above and serve the people gathered in this hall. My people.

I touched my forehead reflexively where I had received the sacred mark while moving forward to the table. I prayed silently to Týr for wisdom to devise a plan that would bring us victory in the bloody war to come.

Reaching the table, the King turned his exacting gaze upon me. I could practically see the dozens of unhatched schemes dancing behind his eyes. He made enough room for me to take a place beside him—a fact that didn't go unnoticed judging by the great lurch of Ivar's head.

"Well, Daughter of Mischief," Björn invited me to take a look at the map in front of him, "what do you suggest?"

* * *

I told him what only anyone who knew the English way of fighting would. They were mildly lethal when clustered together in their formations, but the real challenge lay in their base defense. Castles weren't immune to attack, but they certainly made the entire affair more strenuous. Our best course of action was to draw the lot out of their fortresses into the open and then use surrounding vegetation or high ground as vantage points to pick them off. We wouldn't know exactly what terrain we would have at our disposal, but that would be solved easily enough once we arrived.

Ivar had made a few more attempts to offend my senses with his overt displays of attention toward Signe, but I had remained unfazed by it. My focus had been forever on the task at hand, and he would have done well to save his juvenile actions for a more receptive audience. By about the fourth instance of my ignoring him, I had seen him begin to brush Signe's advances callously aside. I would have said it brought me satisfaction, but that would imply I was susceptible to his ways.

The calm I had possessed in dealing with the North Men's leaders wasn't a gift of the Gods; this ran deeper. It was a quiet strength that came from my own heart, and for that, I knew it could not be shaken.

I remained at the table to converse with the young King and his half brothers while the rest of the attendees dispersed to make necessary preparations and spread the word.

"Where did you learn all that about the English?" Björn asked, impressed.

"Where do you think?" I shot back jokingly.

"Æthelstan, of course. Though I was not fortunate to learn so much from him myself," he conceded.

"That is because you were not paying attention, brother," Ubbe scolded mockingly.

"I never really did, did I?" he admitted, a faraway look in his eye.

"And here you have him: our able-bodied King," Ivar sneered, contempt written all over his face. Björn remained silent, a small smirk playing upon his lips.

"Shut your mouth," Sigurd interjected coldly. Ivar whipped his head to direct his fury toward him. Signe, who was still hanging over him, backed up one step to remove herself from the fray. I almost laughed aloud; she would have to become much more firm in the face of Ivar's tempests if she meant to survive here.

"And what are you going to do, Sigurd? Shut it for me?" Ivar leaned back in his seat while provoking his brother. Ubbe and Hvite looked like they were having trouble holding their laughter in while Björn continued to watch amusedly. Sigurd took a few menacing steps forward.

"You pathetic little mommy's b—"

" _For the love of the Nine Realms_ _!_ " I shouted exasperatedly in an effort to gain their attention. I really was tiring of the back and forth with these men. All five Ragnarsons turned their attentions toward me.

"Yes, Hel," Björn laughed as he spoke.

"Quibble on your own time," I chastised. I ensured each of the (vital) members present saw the severe gleam in my eye before carrying on, "We have work to do."

"Won't you indulge us our vices?" Hvite quipped. I smiled affectionately at him.

"Forgive me," Ivar cut in without hesitation. He had obviously been waiting for his moment to intercede, "but is that not what we have just done here? For so smart a contributor, you're not very smart, are you?"

My mood flipped in an instant. Redness seared my skin as it crept up my neck to my cheeks and ears. My nostrils flared in embarrassment. Signe snorted in laughter at my expense, and all the Ragnarsons but Björn joined in soon after. My head twisted to look between her bouncing, blonde tresses and Ivar's pleased face.

"I'm not smart?" I tested gravely. He remained unruffled.

"Is that not I what I said, Hel?"

"Come now, Ivar," Ubbe counseled.

"I'm not smart," I repeated, feigning agreement. I took two steps backwards before turning and continuing on toward the end of the great hall. This fool really had the impudence to insult me in front of his brothers and think he could get away with it? Sensibility be damned. Ivar had awakened a Viking spirit within me.

"I'm not smart. The greatest fool of all believes I'm not smart," I chuckled in disbelief.

' _Will you show him otherwise, darling girl?'_ Siggy's voice stirred from the afterlife. Just in time.

Reaching the entryway, I spun around to face the group that waited anxiously for my next move and smiled sweetly before stepping out.

'I think I will.'

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for being patient! I truly look forward to hearing your comments, ideas, etc. You keep me going :)**

 **Njord – God of sea and winds**

 **Máni – Personification of the moon**

 **Gullveig – A being thought to be a witch who "brought delight" to "evil women." The Gods persecuted her for it. [ /gullveig/]**

 **Norns – Female beings who rule the destiny of Gods and men; the Fates**

 **Number 9 – Considered significant in Norse mythology most likely due to there being nine realms**

 **Týr – God of war and wisdom**


	14. Landfall

_Four Months Later_

The wind danced lazily through the distant, swaying stalks of wheat and brought its serene kisses up the crumbling stone tower to pass through my hair. The sun hung low in the sky and emitted idle warmth. It was high summer, and some time had passed since I arrived in this faraway land.

I brushed a hand lazily against the window's ledge noting the lack of dust upon it. I certainly hadn't cleaned it recently, meaning the maids had been in to clean again during one of my many long absences from the chamber. The King really had been too kind in putting me up in so fine of quarters.

I had been counting on it.

Judging by the strained but warm terms we had parted on last, it was no surprise he would take great pains to see to my comfort. He must've wanted something in return, but had made no mention of it to this point. I could only guess as to the nature of his intentions based on the prolonged, poorly hidden glances he continued to send my way. For all the intelligence that man possessed, he was certainly presumptuous at times. Surely his mistress, the former Princess Judith, took good enough care of His Royal Highness in that particular area. He had no need for a heathen woman from the Northlands to warm his bed.

I had taken to sighing over the outdoors in my chambers recently. At first the safety and comfort the well-kept room offered was a welcome change from the expansive void I had encountered on the open waters of the crossing. After a few weeks though, my Viking spirit demanded respite from the mundanities of court life.

I craved to take long walks similar to the ones I used to take with Lagertha. Anything to stretch my legs and give my lungs a healthy burn, but it seemed these Englishmen were decidedly averse to the idea of a woman taking any sort of liberty.

The guards had cited my safety as being a primary concern in why I wasn't allowed to take my leave of the castle. I conceded readily as my energies would be of much greater use in executing my vengeance than arguing with a dull crowd of sentries.

That was enough idle staring out upon the countryside; there was work to be done.

* * *

Entering the dusty church caused my eyes to adjust painfully to the seemingly pitch black interior. The only light entered through a small hole behind the altar that was about as high as two men stacked on top of each other. It afforded enough illumination for his holiness to read from the holy text upon his holy platform in this so holy a place.

I tired of the pomp these Christians subscribed to. Of course, they had no idea that I still worshipped the gods of my people. To them, I was Helena, the miraculous convert from the Northlands. I was dutiful, quiet unless spoken to, and most importantly, I put on an air of mild stupidity. The English were a skittish people if a woman was found to be too smart.

The King himself thought I possessed all the intelligence of a loyal dog—a bitch on her hind legs before the royal court whenever he so pleased. Better to keep the royal horde entertained than suspicious. People tended to turn a blind eye when they felt their own superior intelligence was the most brilliant thing in the room worth taking a gander at. And that was exactly how I preferred it.

I would need as much invisibility as possible when it came to this issue of the "heathens" as Egbert commonly referred to them. He was, of course, putting on airs for his courtiers. I could tell the aging monarch had a soft spot for us Vikings, which I supposed was why he took me in so quickly.

I could remember the waning ambition behind his eyes when we had first made landfall so many years after his initial encounters with the great Ragnar Lothbrok, may Valhalla keep him well.

And even though I knew I was as cunning as a turnip in this King's eyes, he still gazed upon me fondly whenever we were in the same room simply because of my heritage.

Even now as I descended the stone steps into the main atrium of the church, the King rounded in his seat in the first pew, his eyes alight and his hand already waving me over to join in next to him. My attention was diverted for only a moment when I felt and then saw the One Eared Woman tossing a look meant to have all the stinging power of salt behind it. I felt nothing and thus betrayed nothing myself. Ignorance was a common trait amongst these English folk, and I played at it well.

I skirted the length of the chapel and entered into the same bench as the King, ever the dutiful lapdog.

"Helena, sweet girl, what kept you?" he practically purred. I saw Judith's shoulders tense out of the corner of my eye. I truly had no claim to the King before me, just his attention, and that was enough to send her reeling. Silly woman. She may have been my senior by some years, but she could act so juvenile at times. Men were not meant to wield too much power over women—one would think getting her ear cut off would have taught her that.

"It was just such a beautiful day out, Your Majesty. I couldn't bear to leave it a moment too soon," I whispered conspiratorially.

The King patted my leg, an all too familiar gesture in so rigid a setting. I could hear the disapproving scoffs and gasps that resounded in the tall structure.

' _Play the part, darling_ ,' I reminded myself bitterly, " _They are_ Christians _after all._ "

I hung my head low in shame and pretended to hide a blush that swarmed my complexion by placing both hands on my cheeks—the perfect Christian reaction. The rabid congregation seemed to ease up at seeing that at least one party was ashamed of her participation in the wanton display.

King Egbert for his part appeared completely uninterested in the unspoken exchange that had just taken place and turned back to the front to allow the priest to carry on in his ministrations.

This had been a daily part of my life for about the past two months or so. There was no escaping the King's lecherous advances, but as long as they remained innocuous, I didn't truly mind them.

Of course if they didn't, I would have to play along in that respect as well. I prayed for continued favor from Freyja in keeping this relationship as neutral as possible. Though I masqueraded as a devout Christian, I knew the Gods must still hold me in some favor. My mission in England might have been one of revenge, but they had to love me still. They simply had to. I couldn't imagine what I'd do with myself if they didn't.

I wouldn't think on that now; I would think on it tomorrow.

* * *

The service took its usual hour and a half, a shorter one than those given on the week's end when the devout had more time to give to their single god. I made my proper exit, but the King insisted upon joining me once we had made it back to the castle. He wished to check up on the work I had been conducting with the resident apothecary in cataloging and describing the variety of herbs, salves, tinctures, and charms we used on a regular basis. The King had many things to preside over, and the palace apothecary was no exception.

As we descended a particularly winding stone staircase that opened into a subterranean floor of the castle, I could feel the pressure of public ventures falling off my shoulders around me.

It's not that I hated the landed gentry of Wessex. They were certainly stupid, but their unwavering scrutiny gave me plenty of cause to practice my deceptive abilities—something I had clearly fallen out of practice with in Kattegat. This was the reason I had failed to persuade Ivar to take me even somewhat seriously despite all my attempts.

But here, in the dark storehouse, I could be my true self. The King and his resident practitioner, Bald, found me to be somewhat of an unexpected savant when it came to the medicinal arts. Because of my contributions, the pair had allowed me to partake in aiding Bald to compile his new publication on the body and its interactions with various materials.

There was not much this man knew that I didn't, and so our experience of working together was more of me cleverly disguising ways to feed him breadcrumbs that would lead to useful discovery. Every time he thought he found something new, which would yet again be another tidbit I had given him without him knowing, he would order me to compile it into our growing work. He really was a pompous man.

His only saving grace was his intelligence and subsequent knowledge of foreign gods. We once held an hours-long conversation on the many adventures of the Silver-Tongued Loki all while decanting water of roses. I will admit he did surprise me once by explaining the many merits of analyzing a man's urine to determine the cause of his illness, something I had not known nor would I have been willing to practice prior. For as much as he annoyed me, he made up for it in the sharing of knowledge.

"Bald! Good man!" the King shouted by way of greeting as we entered the moist underground chamber.

"Ah, Your Highness!" the fat man whirled around and bowed deeply as his spectacles fell from the bridge of his nose, clattering to the floor unceremoniously. I almost snorted aloud at the sight.

"I've come to see what progress you've made on the catalogue," the King spoke authoritatively. As soon as Bard spun around to fetch our latest addition to the pile of papers, Egbert shot a wink in my direction. He enjoyed making others look like fools, that much was obvious.

Pretending not to notice except for a small smile that overtook my lips, I turned to shut the heavy wooden door behind us.

"Your Majesty, as you can see, we've recently begun our treatments for cuts and wounds to the legs. All external, no internal illnesses yet," his words blended together into the hot air of the warm room as I lent my attention to the recently imported ginger root from the East that needed preservation.

* * *

As I always did when my mind was allowed to stray, I returned to my last night in Kattegat.

I had walked out that night in the hall. Walked right out to the shoreline of Kattegat and stared agitatedly into the murky distance. I could barely make out the outlines of the surrounding peaks against the starry sky, so dark were Nótt's robes.

I was so high on the perceived slights of who was once the person I was closest to that I barely registered the near fatal cold of the night. My skin seemed like it was on fire. Nothing made sense except for the one phrase echoing again and again in my mind, ' _I must win. I must win. I must win_ _._ '

What Ivar had dealt me was an insurmountable loss. He had taken from me my position at his side, a place that was meant to be mine as we conquered the known world together. Maybe even further.

He had made me feel unloved despite the divine ordination bestowed upon me by our very own Gods. A selfish _boy_ had made me forget the love that those in Asgard held for me by touting some ungodly woman in front of me.

' _Imustwin, Imustwin, Imustwin_ ,' the chanting had picked up pace tenfold in my mind.

"How?!" I screamed at the open air in response.

As if waiting for my outburst, the wind picked up and swept around me, disturbing the once peaceful scene.

Once my entire body was engulfed in the billowing gale, I looked up to where it seemingly flowed. This must have been wrong because the air came crashing back down on me and outward. Outward into the distance. Outward over the black depths in front of me.

My eyes looked forward to barely make out the same shoreline from before, except now my hair was flying all around my face. I could barely see through the whipping strands. I raised both hands to cup the tendrils behind my ears, and it was at that exact moment that I saw it.

A small bolt of lightning out over the open sea.

I would have thought it a firefly had its accompanying thunder not struck my heart at the same time. Such a sound should have been impossible given the sheer distance, but I knew there was more at work here than just the forces of nature.

The lightning struck again and once more I could feel it resounding in my ribs. It physically shook me this time, gaining in its intensity, though it seemed that the bolt was no closer than the last.

"The sea?" I asked aloud, unclear on the instructions that the divine were so clearly putting in front of me, "I should go to the sea?"

' _That certainly makes a great deal of sense considering I've got no boat and no intended destination. I mean, honestly! These Gods and their harebrained schemes—'_

The lightning hit yet again as its thunderous anger resounded deep in my stomach. Only this time it continued to strike for what felt like a small eternity and held a particular shape as it did so.

A strange creature was brought to life before my very eyes in the white hot, jagged branches of the lightning bolt. It appeared to be a dragon of some sort with two legs and a barbed tail. I could practically see it opening its silvery mouth to delivery a ferocious roar into the never-ending void.

I had never seen anything like it before—or had I?

Yes! On a red background with a golden body, yes! This was the symbol I saw raised amongst the ranks of the kingdom the Ragnarsons had just raided in England—this was the symbol of Wessex!

Amidst the swirling chaos that continued to rush around me, I asked the heavens quite sardonically, "So you want me to go to Wessex then, ay?"

A final clap of thunder sounded as if to drive the point home. I didn't fail to notice that no lightning had preceded it.

"Alright, alright," I conceded in resignation, "I can't imagine what my going to England will solve, but I'm sure you all—"I gestured to the air irreverently, "have some grand scheme in mind."

' _Show some respect, girl,_ ' I heard Siggy scold. She sounded almost fearful.

My anger far outweighed my fear at this point. I felt as if I would never know fear's cautious prudence ever again. I would never again know what it was like to be forsaken by the mortals of this plane. I would rise, untethered.

And that was it. Therein lied the key to what exactly needed to be done on distant shores.

I must go to Wessex to take what should be mine anyway. I would ruin Ivar and his brother's careful planning from the inside out. I would build my own empire separate of what they could ever hope to conquer, and I would ram it into their skulls. I would triumph, I would gloat, and I would claim my place in Valhalla.

' _I must win, I must win, I must win_.' The steady phrase resumed its repetition in time to my heartbeat, and it became my single point of focus.

It was all I heard for the rest of that night as I stole one of Floki's many boats and gathered the necessary provisions for the journey. I barely recalled shouting to Garmsen to stay put when he tried swimming out after me. I felt no remorse, only rage.

My revenge would taste bitter—how I longed to have it.

* * *

I did not remember how long it took to make the crossing. I did not remember most of the details of the journey. When I emerged from the boat, it was like I woke up from a dreamy haze. The food and water I had packed were mostly untouched, yet I felt no pangs of hunger.

I did remember the English guards that demanded to know from whence I had come and what purpose I had for turning up on their shores. I did remember that I told them I had news for the King, and that he must hear it right away lest they should wish to hang.

The King—to his credit—betrayed no suspicion upon my arrival and took my story at face value: I had escaped from the Great Heathen Army that was preparing to ravage all of England. That I had been the only one to try to remind the savage Ragnarsons of our promise not to do any further harm to the kingdom that had so graciously allowed us to leave uninhibited the first time, and for this they had threatened to kill me. I could not be part of so crude a deception (how ironic), and so I fled at the first available opportunity to warn His Majesty.

Egbert lapped up my tale like a babe does his mother's milk. Fool.

Once the King knew of my particular talents in medicines and herbs, he sent me straight to work at Bald's side. At first the aged physician refused, but he relented at Egbert's insistence.

"Woman are much smarter than we give them credit for," Egbert reasoned, "Indeed, they are often much smarter than they want us to know." I had turned red against my most valiant efforts at that.

Since then, I—or rather, Helena—had access to all of the King's functions. He trusted me, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out _why_. It was almost too easy.

This particular afternoon, the King had called me into his study to go over the details of his soon-to-be campaign against the North Men. No matter which scenario we discussed, we still came out with even odds against the Vikings. Of course, I wasn't here to give wise counsel, I was merely here to recite what I knew about my people's skill in combat and tactics. The poor thing, I knew he was having a time of it, but I refused to point out the obvious way to an easy victory.

"Tell me again how they fight, Helena. There must be something we're overlooking," he coached in an exasperated tone.

"Yes, Your Majesty," I replied dutifully and launched into yet another explanation of more of the same. Midway through, my speech was interrupted.

"Father!" Prince Æthelwulf burst into the chambers, completely oblivious to the meeting that was going on. What a shame. I thought he had a brilliant mind, as skilled a tactician as any father could hope to have in a son. The King might have done well to listen to him every once in a while.

I watched the prince pause to take in the scene before him—his father and a young maid standing over a large map with pieces meant to represent fighting forces scattered about. Once he had figured out what was going on, he looked between us and cleared his throat to speak more composed this time, "Father."

"Yes, my son. What is it?" he asked languidly. Egbert was used to such outbursts.

"It's the North Men," he replied. Egbert's interest piqued at this.

"Well?"

"They've landed in Northumbria, father. They've killed King Ælle. They split open his ribs and hung him bare for the world to see."

"Christ have mercy on his soul," Egbert offered witheringly. I saw no fear in his eyes, only acceptance.

"They will be headed here next, Father. We must ride to stop them," Æthelwulf commented. The King looked to be in a trance. His gaze was a thousand yards away.

"Father," Æthelwulf brought him back gruffly.

"Yes, yes," he started, "Go on. Let me know when you are fully prepared to meet the heathens, and I will give you my blessing," Egbert conceded as he looked back down toward the map and began shifting pieces.

"Very well," he agreed and left directly.

The North Men were coming. The North Men were coming to Wessex. The North Men—my people—were coming _here_.

My legs almost gave out under the weight of this knowledge. I had expected them to come to England, surely, but not so soon and certainly not in so outrageous a manner.

No matter, I would just have to hurry along the preparations for their arrival. I would be ready if it killed me. England was mine, and no heathen horde would take it from me.

Certainly not a horde with Ivar as its head.

That night I lay my head on my pillow and tried to find sleep, but every time I shut my eyelids, I saw two blue-green orbs staring menacingly back. I welcomed their evil.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm back. I hope I'm not gone for long again. As way of penance, I've prepared for you a list of songs that I used to compose this chapter. I hope you can dig it** **:**

 **1\. Kyson - You**

 **2\. The Black Keys - Little Black Submarines**

 **3\. Margot Bingham - Farewell Daddy Blues**

 **4\. Sarah Klang - Sleep**

 **5\. 78violet - Hothouse**

 **6\. Tom Odell - Magnetized**

 **7\. Stoffer & Maskinen - Vi To Er Smeltet Sammen; This song epitomizes the entire story. Bless.**

 **I truly don't mean to be a flake. I need to make writing/completing this story a priority in my life again. I hope you can choose to stay with me. Thank you :)**


	15. Back and Forth

The next day found a seemingly at ease King Egbert sitting atop his wooden throne—a far more unassuming piece of furniture when compared to the one of the Viking kings of Kattegat. These Christians had an unhealthy fear of ornamentation. They would only allow enough to distinguish the landed nobility from the peons, but that was it.

Though the King put forth a grand display of boredom, I could see right through it. Anyone who paid attention to him for a moment longer than was socially acceptable could easily see his inner workings. He was downright frenzied. Beneath all those layers, I could see his brain whizzing, coming up with ways to fight or flee. I wish I could be the one to tell him that no matter what he did, he would fail.

With a soft tread and an even softer smile, I approached the royal platform for a quiet audience with His Majesty.

"Sire, I may not be the smartest person in your employ—and I am a woman at that," a healthy dose of ignorant innocence for this heady King, "but I do understand one thing above all: we must enlist the help of the other kingdoms."

Egbert drew in a heavy breath before responding. I could tell he preferred to deal with the matter on his own, in the unencumbered space of his own mind. He did not want to be weighed down by a practical dimwit.

"Yes, my dear girl. We have already sent out messengers to round up our banner men as well as those of Mercia," he sighed dismissively.

 _'No, you dullard_ ,' it took every bone in my body not to say the words aloud. Egbert was a smart man, but coaching any man was a tedious venture.

"Oh," I did my best to sound consoled and racked my mind for another way to phrase what I wanted. How to betray that I knew the political state of England almost as well as the King himself?

 _'He is a man. He must think he came up with it on his own,'_ I reminded myself. I felt as though Siggy would have told me the same if she were able to, but this foreign soil was no friend to the spirits of the North Men.

"Surely there must be more men elsewhere?" I failed to elaborate, hoping the King would come to the correct conclusion himself.

Egbert scowled at the ground for a few moments longer, but I could see the wheel of his mind begin to turn ever so slowly. He rose his head shortly thereafter to look at me, a mirthless expression upon his face.

"We could always send word to what remains of Northumbria—its capital and all of its prominent towns—to demand Soldiers. Unless Judith has any designs upon the throne, then we may now very well be the technical ruling body," he intoned dispassionately.

 _'Almost, but not quite.'_

"Where are the North Men now?" I questioned further. With barely a glance in my direction, he stood abruptly and made for an exit behind the throne. It appeared he would continue to indulge me. I followed wordlessly.

Back in his private office, the King knocked the pieces off of the map that lay unfurled on the wooden table next to the large, unornamented window.

"See here," he gestured to the northern end of England on the map, "They have landed there, in Bamburgh. That is where Ælle is—was—King."

"They must have moved on since then, no Sire?" I asked to further the explanation. Wearing this cloak of ignorance could be somewhat irksome at times.

"Indeed they must have. But where?" he was getting distracted. There was no use conjecturing until we had word. Glancing over the map, I knew what the plan was since we had ironed it out back in Kattegat. But I also knew that plans change, and an army with Ivar at its head would definitely change its plans. He didn't commit himself to one course of action. He waited until he got on ground, saw the terrain and other contributing factors, and adjusted accordingly.

"Where is Mercia, Your Highness?" I probed, bringing him back to the issue at hand.

"This whole area," he waved his hand in a circle over the middle of the map. He picked up a few smaller pieces to indicate what I imagined were the prominent towns, "We have already sent word to its capital, here, and to the nobles of the kingdom here, here, here, and here."

"What is to guarantee that they would send men?" I thought that would be a fair enough question from anyone who knew nothing about war and politics. Someone like Helena.

"Simple, my dear. We are directly located to their South, and they now have a heathen army knocking on their door to the North."

"So that would mean…" I let a glow of understanding light up my face, "They're surrounded on both sides!"

"Exactly, yes!" Egbert shouted, as much excited at my understanding as his plan. It was the first smile I had seen on his face in some time.

He was missing one key element.

"But what is over here, Your Majesty?" I gestured at the western side of Mercia. This would be my largest hurdle yet.

"Wales," he answered dismissively. The English had a history of ignoring their Welsh neighbors. The Mercians had only just finished building a dyke to outline their border against the other Kingdom.

"And they would not help as well?"

' _Come on, come on, come on.'_

"Would they not? I wonder," he trailed off.

"Doesn't the same problem apply to them as it does to us and the Mercians?" I prodded, "Wouldn't the North Men just as easily turn in their direction as they would continue south?" The King's smile grew outrageously.

"Helena, my dear, you've done it now!" he exclaimed with a whoop. It was my duty to react accordingly; I feigned an expression of confusion.

"What do you mean, Your Highness?" I asked softly. A hint of fear colored my tone for good measure.

"Bring me messengers—all of them that are still here!" he shouted to the closed doors of the gallery. I could hear a few of the guards begin to scramble hastily on the opposite side. _Idiots._

I waited patiently for an explanation, lack of understanding written plainly on my face. It did not seem like he would give me one. Good thing I didn't truly need it. The King was already adding more pieces to the map that coincided with the Welsh border.

Well done, King.

* * *

It had been like entering into a town full of helpless babes.

' _A town of_ cripples _,'_ Ivar thought derisively.

And it was true. The supposedly well-built city had crumbled like a leaf underfoot. Ivar had found all the bloodshed quite amusing. He imagined if his legs were working he would have stood and leapt about instead of watching from the sides.

There had been the incident where his life was almost ended in front of his upended carriage. He had been a hair's length from death. He could feel the end in his bones as he breathed in mists of ash and blood. He was about to die, and Gods Above, Ivar had never felt more _alive_.

The whole affair had made Ivar realize one thing: he would be damned if his conquests would end with England. He would become the scourge of the world. This fighting, this killing was etched forever in his blood by the Gods; Hel had made sure he knew of it.

 _'Not her again,'_ Ivar dismissed as he struggled to keep himself calm by taking in deep, calming breaths. In and out, in and out, in and—

He released a ferocious, unwavering yell to the high heavens.

Hel had the audacity to leave him. To leave _him_. Ivar the Boneless.

His shouting dissolved into helpless laughter.

Was she daft? She had to be if she thought she could pull a stunt like that and expect to live.

 _'You may know the Gods, Hel, but they will turn their heads the day that I find you. They will not be able to bear watching what I will do to you,'_ his breathing grew more labored as he contemplated all the evils he would perform on his missing companion, _'You will beg for death well before I allow you to breathe your last.'_

It was at this moment that Sigurd chose to enter the empty church. He had grown cockier after each exploit with the English, and it had certainly not done anything to improve Ivar's treatment of him. As if on cue, Sigurd's lazy smirk spread over his face.

"What causes our brother to sit in God's house?" he asked irreverently, "Come to pray?"

"Why is it that whenever you choose to open your mouth something stupid comes out?" the mocking tone of Ivar's response was swallowed by his resolute anger.

Sigurd let out a small chuckle and ambled to one of the candelabras left behind in the hasty plunder of the holy place, his irritating expression never changing. Ivar had half a mind to bury one of his axes right down the middle of his annoying face.

"Could it be…" Sigurd trailed off, pretending to be at a loss for ideas. Ivar knew Sigurd was only delaying in order to make his ire grow, "Could it possibly be…"

"Out with it, brother." His eyes never left Sigurd's moseying form.

"Could it be," Sigurd drew in a breath theatrically, "our Ivar is thinking on his missing Daughter of Mischief?"

"Shut up," Ivar threatened lowly. He could barely handle musing over the subject alone; he would certainly not do it with Sigurd Shit in the Eye present.

The Gods must have been on his side this day because after a short period of deliberation, Sigurd's eyebrows lifted and his smirk finally removed itself.

 _'Thank Odin,'_ Ivar thought to himself. A few moments longer, a few more idiotic words and Sigurd would have found himself at the bottom of the river that ran next to York.

"I have come here to discuss business, brother. Truly," Sigurd intoned by way of pacification.

"Well?" Ivar demanded.

"It appears our dear Ubbe grows restless."

* * *

"Father, we cannot delay our movement any longer," Æthelwulf pleaded. His desperation to depart Wessex was palpable. I could sense it from where I stood on the opposite end of the room. I paused to look at the prince's form hunched over the map before the King.

He could, of course, leave at any time, but it would poke holes in my perfectly constructed plan. Holes that I didn't feel like dealing with once the North Men arrived at Egbert's doorstep.

I fumbled around a hidden pocket I had sewn into the folds of my emerald green gown and clutched at the small black stone within. I could feel the grooves of the God's markings for concealment and protection.

"We have not heard back from our Welsh compatriots. They could sway the tide of the battle," Egbert reasoned quietly. It was quite uncharacteristic of him. I wondered what about the conflict with my people had him so withdrawn, so not himself. I thought he would have been the one out of everybody to thrive in times of adversity. Apparently I had been wrong.

"Every moment we sit here is another moment they spend slaughtering the innocents!" Æthelwulf shouted callously. He was crazed with his need to defend the crown and its people. I could understand that.

The Prince bent low over his silently agonizing father and spoke menacingly, "Either we go now or they show up at our gates."

I mumbled a quick prayer to the Gods that their good fortune remain with me in the matters of the English war. Even if I did not achieve success in my plans now, let it come later.

"Very well," the aged King conceded with little gusto.

 _'Damn it all,'_ I thought exasperatedly. I quickly tried to change my thoughts to victory, _'No matter, no matter. Just a bit of a set back. We can surely remedy this, so long as the King doesn't abandon the plan.'_

Yes, no trouble at all.

I began to feel the hairs on the back of my neck and on my arms stand on end. Someone was watching me.

I spun in all directions, but no one else was in the room. The King was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he couldn't be bothered to spare me a glance.

' _Who else could it be?'_

A prickling sensation accompanied the odd reaction. It grew stronger and more persistent with every moment that passed until pain made itself known.

I made a quick excuse and removed myself from the King's presence. As I traveled down the gaping stone corridors, I prayed that I might reach my chambers before whatever was going on got much worse. I could not imagine the Christians' reactions if they saw a foreign woman howling down the halls.

The pain was becoming fairly formidable now, and I sucked in air to prevent a noise from escaping. A little further still and I would be in my private quarters.

It felt like a slow burn creeping through my limbs, along my shoulders, and down my neck now. It was something akin to a horrible burn from the sun's rays. But with every step I took the discomfort grew tenfold.

 _'What in the Nine Realms is going on?'_ I questioned furtively.

I was ready to scream in agony. I could barely breathe for want of relief from this horrible burning. If it kept up at this rate, my legs would buckle before I was any where near my room. I knew nowhere else to turn than down into the stairwell that led to the underground rooms where Bald did his work.

 _'Goddess, what is this affliction?'_ I prayed helplessly, _'Let me suffer not in silence, but tell me what causes this torment!'_ I spoke no words aloud, but they were written plainly on my face in widened eyes and creased brows. I had never known such an all-encompassing pain like this; it was almost too much.

I hurled myself down the steps and into the first door within the subterranean hallway. There was naught but four windows letting in the bright sunlight to illuminate the depths of a heated bath. Not another soul was to be found.

The clouds of steam billowing from the bath did nothing to alleviate the burning all over my body. If anything, it made it worse. Far worse. Yet I refused to venture out in the hallway again for risk of being seen.

"Goddess, what _is_ this?" I questioned aloud desperately.

" _Enter the water,_ " a voice slick and smooth as ice filled the air.

I looked bewilderedly between the warmed pool and the open air. The fire on my skin blazed at the prospect.

"Are you out of your—" my shrill plea was cut off midsentence.

" _Obey or suffer._ " No room for argument or explanation. I had no choice.

I glanced forlornly at the bath one more time before closing my eyes and bracing for the inevitable anguish that awaited. My lips formed innumerable breathless prayers to the very ones causing me my current harm. Odin, Hel, Loki, anyone who would listen. I prayed for release from this torment, for restoration in its entirety.

I took one sure step into the water, completely submerging one foot.

White hot, blinding pain consumed me. A dying scream escaped my throat. Every part of my body wanted to jump back out, but my Goddess' instructions never left my mind.

 _'Obey or suffer, obey or suffer, obey or suffer. Get in the damned water!'_ I knew she had to have something for me on the other side of my obedience. There was no other explanation. There had to be something.

I tried not to let the desperation cloud my judgment too greatly. I changed my breathing from panicked gasps to slow, even lungsful.

Another foot in now, the same white hot agony.

 _'Obey or suffer.'_

Another step and the heated water had engulfed me up to my stomach. I fully expected the pain to follow, even worse than before.

But it didn't. The oddest thing happened instead.

Where the water touched was now soothed; the fire licking at my skin was all but extinguished. The further into the water I ventured, the greater the relief. I didn't restrain myself at all but instead jumped fully into the deepest part of the bath. I was whole again.

"Thank you, Goddess," I whispered in my sweet liberation.

 _"His ire knows no bounds,"_ I heard the same comfortingly cold voice echo off the tiled walls.

I could easily guess as to whom the Daughter of Mischief was referring to.

"Was that what caused this awful torment?" I probed.

If the deity knew the answer of the machinations of my anguish, she betrayed nothing and carried on unperturbed. Or, at least, her disembodied voice did.

 _"You have done the right thing, fair daughter. This will be his greatest lesson yet,"_ I felt a great surge of pride at her praise as she finished, _"And yours."_

"What? His greatest lesson as well as mine?" I grew somewhat fearful. What could she mean? I thought I was acting within the will of the Gods!

 _"Before your great moment of triumph arrives, Hel, you must learn to accept defeat,"_ she intoned patiently, _"Pain before glory."_

How could my accepting defeat lead to a victory? It made absolutely no sense. How in the Gods' names could that lead to success in any shape, form, or fashion?

I was beyond confused; I was hopeless.

And yet, I had to trust.

I had to trust that the Gods had a plan for me that I didn't see. A plan that would ultimately work out in my favor as they promised, or they wouldn't have led me on this journey to begin with.

All I had to go on was faith.

And for some reason, this made me giddy with contentment. It was out of my hands now. I could do naught but my best and pray the Gods would work out the rest. If they wanted to grant me the glory I so ardently sought, that would be truly amazing. And if they wanted to send everything to Helheim in a hand basket, well, that was on them.

I laughed aloud and splashed raucously in the bath—fully dressed and sopping wet—as I contemplated this newfound freedom in the pursuit of my aims.

Fuck the livid boy days from here; a quick, carefree swim was in perfect order.

* * *

Ivar sat near the opening of his tent gazing upon the open fire a few paces away and twirling his blade absentmindedly.

Ubbe wanted to cultivate the land, did he? How far would he get? Surely all the men (the good ones anyway) would come with Ivar. Let him farm this Christian earth when there were more places to be snuffed out. He would see what came of it.

"Ach," Ivar scoffed and threw his knife into the dirt.

A wisp of blonde in the fading streaks of sunlight caught his eye from just beyond the tent. Not again.

"What do you want, Signe?" Ivar asked agitatedly. True, her presence brought him physical comfort from time to time, but even that grew tiresome.

When his mind was freed from the cloudy haze of her body, he regretted that he found himself in the company of her mouth until he could make an escape. The woman could make the Silver-Tongued God himself envious of her never-ending ability to speak on and on and _on_.

'Then again, her speech is never so useful as Loki's, now is it?' Ivar thought coldly. He lifted his head to greet her approach with a snort, his eyes narrowed just slightly.

"Have you given any thought to what I've asked?" she questioned smoothly. The fair-haired woman always talked as though she was in control, as if she knew the outcome before it had even happened. Ivar hated it.

He could see through the thin veneer she employed. She wasn't nearly so confident—she merely pretended to be. To the untrained eye, Signe was all that a woman should be: soft and mysterious, willing yet detached. But he spotted the gaps in the great show she put forth.

Her eyes wandered a bit too quickly over those who surrounded her, as if seeking to ensure she was in their good graces. Her hands never really ever stopped fidgeting—her true nervousness and disquiet coming through. It irritated Ivar to no end.

She was not sure of herself, that much was clear.

 _'Not like Hel.'_

A quick shake of his head and a growl were enough to rid himself of the intrusive, unwanted thought.

She was a traitor. She deserved to rot in Helheim for all she had put him—.

"Ivar?"

"WHAT?" he bellowed, furious at being interrupted in his pondering.

Signe jumped visibly. One more sign that she wasn't comfortable around him.

 _'Not like Hel,'_ the thought came unbidden to him once more, causing the blood to boil in his veins. Except this time the voice in his head did not sound like his own. Ivar was reminded of the voice of a certain deity.

He growled more loudly this time, hoping the thoughts would finally leave him be if he expressed enough frustration. He tried to distract himself by returning to the situation at hand.

"No, I haven't," he paused, watching Signe's face fall in disappointment. It brought him a sick pleasure and his mouth twisted into a wide grin before he spoke again, "Because I never will."

"You won't even _think_ about it, Ivar?" she sounded so crestfallen. Good.

Never in a thousand years would Ivar the Boneless deign to wed a woman like Signe—she was too weak, a mere falsehood of a human made manifest by the Gods.

"Do not try to seem so innocent now, woman," he cautioned, "I know you have had every one of my brothers. They enjoyed you, I'm sure. Go find one of them and make your offer. I grow tired of your presence," he finished callously.

Signe looked ready to stomp her foot in protest.

"Go on," he waved her off lazily.

"You will regret this, Ivar the Boneless," she seethed and turned, running away from his tent. The glint of anger in her eye was the first glimpse of genuineness the young Viking had seen in the woman thus far. She was learning.

"Will I?" he questioned with a laugh.

He had dashed her hopes, at least for the meantime. Her ambitions were so childish.

 _'Not like Hel's.'_

"For fuck's sake!" he shouted to the open air around him. The Daughter of Mischief herself was toying with him. He could almost hear the mirth of her ethereal laughter in the flames of the fire in front of him.

"When I find her, I'm going to cut to her head off and put it on a pike for all the Gods to see!" he roared at the flames, "Then you'll see what all your scheming has done for her!"

He mustered up a large amount of spit within his mouth and cast it bitterly into the fire. The flames burst several feet up in response. Ivar would've been taken aback if he had the wherewithal to fear the divine anymore.

The Gods were fickle in their pursuits, and he would be damned if he let them interfere in the pursuit of his destiny.

Ivar had joined his life, his calling, his very purpose with Hel. He would find her—the one who was supposed to remain at his side despite it all—and he would make her regret ever considering leaving him. Several images flooded his mind: a blood eagle, a pit of vipers, a pack of wild dogs.

The Gods may be fickle beings, but Ivar the Boneless' anger never wavered.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello again! I did it! Another chapter up in less than a decade!**

 **I just wanted to remind everyone that this story is AU in that timelines are different, but everyone will meet the same fate more or less. I may change small details to suit this story, but I find the show has a great plot and I do my utmost to adhere to it eventually.**

 **I've found this playlist concept keeps my writing focused and on track with the atmosphere I'm going for in each scene. Check out this chapter's and let me know what you think:**

 **1\. The Cure – A Forest**

 **2\. Black Sabbath – War Pigs/Luke's Wall**

 **3\. Billy Bragg – A New England**

 **4\. Beastie Boys – No Sleep Till Brooklyn**

 **5\. The Cure – Boys Don't Cry**

 **6\. Two Feet – Go Fuck Yourself**

 **7\. Maty Noyes – Say it to My Face**

 **8\. Charli XCX – White Roses**

 **If you wish to take a look, this map of Anglo Saxon England circa 830 has been crucial in executing some of the story line: the-kingdoms-of-wales/map-of-anglo-saxon-england/.**

 **And most importantly, to all those who reviewed (Shantigal, Romanceismyjam, nevershout, and min kone), thank you, thank you, and thank you again! I so appreciate the support, as I truly do need it more often than not. I was so excited every time I saw a new one; I love hearing your opinions. Bless you and Happy New Year's :)**


	16. Prince Alfred

The bath's warm waters were intoxicating, and if I hadn't already lost my senses from the freedom that renewed faith brings, I certainly would have done so by now. I swam back and forth a few times and then dove fully underneath the surface, too heady with my most recent divine interaction. The swaddling warmth of the pool threatened to take me with it, so I resurfaced to regain my head a bit. I floated on my back, fully clothed, and relaxed for a short while before a voice stole the silence of the chamber.

"I did not expect to meet you here, Lady Helena."

 _Shit_.

With an unceremonious yelp, I regained my footing at the bottom of the pool and scurried to the nearest edge while peering over.

It was one of the young princes. Alfred was his name. I had seen him at many a noble gathering in the castle's great hall. He and his brother Æthelred could not have been more different in both appearance and disposition. It was obvious how Lady Judith clutched at Alfred that he was the favored of her two sons. Considering the boy's father (my former teacher), it was no wonder.

 _'He looks so much like him.'_

My eyes continued to rake over his willowy form. He was much slimmer than his brother. Truth be told, Æthelstan had not been a man of great stature either. It was only after he had been forced to fight alongside the Vikings did he start to look like one. In this memory, I was transported to another place and time.

I could see flashes of my mentor's face upon me, illuminated in the candlelight as we poured over an ancient tome together. Glimpses of him as he learned to glide and feint in battle in the forest with Ragnar. A withered man bent over hard in prayer—to which Gods, I did not know.

The visions swirled about my mind's eye with increasing speed until they blurred together and dissipated, revealing the still waiting Prince Alfred behind them.

"Have you forgotten how to speak?" he seemed amused. That was good.

Any other peeving Englishman would have demanded to know immediately why a North Woman was frolicking in the hot baths of the King. I cleared my throat in a further attempt to bring myself back to reality.

"No, Your Highness," I glanced fleetingly about me, taking in the sight of my soaked dress.

"Then what brings you here, if you pardon my asking," his eyes followed where mine had just been, "And in so fully-robed a manner?"

 _'Think of something, and quickly.'_

Something heinously stupid would befit a woman of Helena's mental capacity. I had just the idea.

"Well, Your Highness, I was walking to go help Bald as your grandfather so often likes me to do and I accidentally walked straight into one of the torch posts!" I laughed melodiously, as if I couldn't believe the predicament I'd gotten myself into, "I could have sworn I saw the flames catch the hem of my gown, so I sped here as quickly as I could and leapt in without a moment's thought."

 _'Foolproof,'_ I congratulated myself. He looked skeptical.

"Strange," he narrowed his eyes and looked up toward the ceiling as if deep in thought as he treaded closer with a soft step, "I saw no upturned torches on my walk down here."

 _'Well, if he wants to be difficult…'_

"I must've come from the opposite direction as you, Your Highness!" more pleasant laughter for the boy to choke on.

"Why do you do that?" he asked quietly, gaze steady upon my face. I would've smacked him if English decorum allowed for it.

"Do what, Your Highness?" I had no idea what he could possibly be talking about.

The Prince bent down onto one knee next to the water's edge and peered deeply into my eyes. His voice never wavered, nor rose in pitch. It remained steady, yet inquisitive, "You feign ignorance."

He could not know that. Not really. I would not give up so easily.

"Whatever could you mean, Sire?" A bit of hurt colored my features, as if his accusation of ignorance at all was deeply wounding. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, though his calculating stare never wavered.

"There. You play so coy, so innocent. But I've seen you, Helena," he accused, eyes full of mirth. His head lowered closer to mine and he brought his voice down to a conspiratorial hush, "I've seen your eyes thinking thoughts faster than most men can blink. You cloak your intelligence and attempt to beguile those around you with well-seeming idiocy. I wonder though," he paused for good measure, "how could you mean well if you're hiding who you are?"

This _boy_ knew. He knew me so thoroughly, it was infuriating!

He had obviously been watching me for a great deal of time if he could so readily accuse me of subterfuge. This Prince could jeopardize everything I had worked toward here in England. And it was all made worse by the fact that I knew barely a grain of sand's worth about him compared to what he knew about me.

 _'To Hel with you,'_ I thought savagely while holding eye contact. He had his father's smarts, that was for sure. But I could not let him gain the upper hand.

When you are caught in a lie, you either come clean or dig your hole a bit deeper. Those were the two choices. Siggy explained the positives and negatives of both to me as a small girl.

Coming clean meant you could clear your slate. Start from scratch. Rebuild and reshape. But it also meant being labeled as a liar from then on. Trust was not so easy to come by these days, especially not in the land of Wessex where I was an outsider.

Adding to your lie made it more complicated, more difficult to keep track of and uphold the mirage you had created. It did, however, leave your reputation intact if you were able to manage it.

And manage it I would.

"I _am_ sorry, Prince," I conceded. After a quick mournful gaze downward, I looked up to make eye contact once more. He seemed not at all swayed, obviously waiting for me to employ some other means of deception. He was smarter than I had anticipated.

"For what, Lady Helena?" A golden cross hung from his slender neck and immediately snagged my attention. I had seen it before—this was Æthelstan's cross. Although I had last noticed it in the Late King Lothbrok's possession, it had somehow wound its way back here into the hands of this Englishman.

Whatever web of lies I was ready to spin died on my lips. There was no way King Egbert would give up such a prized possession of Æthelstan's. And I was sure Prince Æthelwulf had no desire to maintain a relic of the man his wife had an affair with to then pass on to his illegitimate half-son. This young man had met King Ragnar before his death. And that same King had seen fit to give Alfred the one sacred piece by which he remembered the holy man. I could not imagine he would have done so if he did not see some glaring resemblance between father and son—not just physical, but ethereal.

This boy—.

No, this _man_ was more akin to Æthelstan than I could have ever imagined. He was not worthy of the lies I could tell him. No doubt he would see right through them. Like his father, he would have an eerie ability to see right through to the truth in seconds.

It had to be honesty with this one. That much was apparent.

I hoped that if I told him my story, he would share in at least some of my ambitions. Definitely not all, so I would not reveal all. Just most. I could win this young man to my favor, but only through hard-earned trust.

With a heavy sigh, I relaxed my shoulders and skirted backwards to feel the opposite wall of the bath come into contact with my back. I looked up with a conciliatory smile.

"Well, you might as well get in since we're going to be here for a while. It's quite a long story."

He hesitated for only a short moment before he stood up to his full height to remove his outer robe. He looked completely sure of his actions, and his eyes never left mine.

I liked him already.

* * *

"And you are sure this is what you want to do, Ubbe?" Ivar questioned lightly. His brother was not fooled for a moment. Fire danced behind those blue-green eyes.

"It is the only way and you know it, Ivar," he looked almost forlorn at his admission, "I will take these men back to Kattegat where they can live their lives."

 _'And not follow you aimlessly around the English countryside.'_ The words remained unspoken, yet Ivar sensed them still.

"Fine. Go," he started, "You think because we have avenged our father's death that our work is done here? If you really think that, Ubbe, then you are _crazy_." His white-hot tongue danced behind his teeth with all the venom he wanted to spit on his brother.

Ivar's callous glance swept the ranks to spot Signe standing amongst those destined to head back home. So this was her revenge? Follow his brothers in the hopes that one of them would take pity long enough to marry her? She truly was pathetic. It took all of Ivar's strength not to laugh aloud.

"Who's to say that everything is still alright at Kattegat? Hmm, Ivar?" Ubbe yelled back in his own quiet, raspy way, "We have brought all of our fighting men and women here. We have staked our claim _here_. What have we done for Kattegat?"

Ubbe's questioning incited an unholy ire within Ivar, and he was about to unleash it. But something stopped him. It was as if the clouds in his mind had parted and were replaced with an otherworldly, divine calm. He could see everything all at once. He could see Kattegat on its distant shore.

The village carried on peacefully as before, but something was coming. Ivar could sense a devastating storm brewing over his homeland, and he had a sudden urgency to stop it. The feeling of foreboding threatened to overwhelm him, but he did not permit it to hold onto him for too long.

"Go, Ubbe," he dismissed with a nod of his head. The great horde with his brother turned to leave, and Ubbe looked back at Ivar forlornly. It took Hvite's strong clap on his older brother's back to bring him back to reality and carry on their journey in silence.

Ivar's eyes remained wide and unfocused long after his brothers and the men with them had gone.

"Please," he whispered to no one who would hear.

A wild dog sat silently in the tree line, unnoticed.

* * *

Courtiers lined both sides of the great hall, eagerly awaiting the word of their King. Messengers had been spotted entering the castle walls some time ago, and Egbert's subjects practically hummed with excitement.

I stood towards the back of the western side of the room, nearer to the windows. This provided me with enough of a vantage point of the proceedings while remaining out of the way.

The royal family with the exception of the King himself stood poised around the throne facing the length of the great hall. I wondered if it ever grew easier to deal with the never-ending scrutiny of an entire kingdom. Judging by the stiff expressions on each of the royal's faces, it seemed that the immediate answer was no.

Alfred looked regal as usual. After our conversation in the baths, I had begun to notice him more often, and I paid closer attention to him when I did. He looked to be the most at ease next to the throne, and though it would surely never come to pass, I thought he had all the makings of a great king.

His hair was drawn back at the crown of his head while the rest was allowed to hang freely about his shoulders. The long black cape that he wore trailed the floor at his feet, making him seem even taller as he stood next to his brother. The two golden medallions—similar to those I had worn all those many months ago that had not been to Ivar's liking—ornamented his shoulders spectacularly. I could not stop my eye as it trailed languidly over his throat when he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing ever so slightly.

He must've looked over during my observation because as my gaze moved steadily upward, it was met by mirth-filled eyes. He had caught me.

My mouth turned upward on one side, the gesture of those who shared secrets with each other and no one else. He returned it in kind, though a bit less devilishly. Of course, he was a Christian after all. He couldn't look too terribly pleased with himself amongst the imbeciles that filled the room.

In our revelations, I had come to find that I was not the only youth with great ambitions that walked the halls. Through whatever means, Prince Alfred possessed a desire to unite all of England under one crown—preferably Wessex's. This meant serving as advisor to his father once he took the throne from Egbert, but whether or not Prince Æthelwulf would listen was another obstacle entirely.

Alfred had thought it particularly genius to include Wales in our aims after I had mentioned my suggestions to King Egbert. No kingdom was too powerful for the Vikings, and we would take advantage of the fear that bred.

I still couldn't believe that an English prince of all people was on my side in this venture. The Gods had obviously known we would meet if I came here, and their schemes were starting to seem a bit more sensible with every interaction that occurred. I hadn't even thought of Ivar in some time.

Ivar. That was right.

I still had no idea how I was going to handle him when he eventually did make an appearance in Wessex, but I would continue my work here regardless.

Thinking of the Boneless son of Ragnar Lothbrok brought chills to my spine. I felt his anger and hatred even here without the help of the Gods. I was sure my Goddess would give me the strength and wit to handle it when the altercation eventually did come to pass, but again, faith was all I had to go on.

The wooden doors next to the throne burst open with a loud _bang_ and I was ripped from my musing.

King Egbert strode triumphantly to the throne and stood before it to take in his numerous subjects. Not a sound was made in anticipation of his next words.

"We have news," he began.

 _'Obviously.'_

"The Northumbrians are mounting a force to march on the North Men at York," he paused to allow for the tremendous applause that followed. I sensed that he had not finished.

"Not only that," another pause. His flair for the dramatic knew no bounds. He looked around in anticipation before he spoke again, "Wales has agreed to enter the fight against the heathen horde as well!"

The crowd sounded a bit confused but then erupted into an even more excited round of applause. Who were they to say anything about who was on their side so long as they were helping against the Viking scourge?

 _'It's all coming together, isn't it?'_ I couldn't help but think.

My smirk grew even wider as I clapped loudly to match the cheers of those standing around me. I looked back to Alfred.

It was obvious that the news brought him the same abounding joy as it did me. This meant a united England for him, as was his dream. For me, it meant easier pickings. He and I would have to agree until we didn't.

Ah, well. Such was the nature of conquest.

As I studied him from across the hall, I couldn't stop myself from wondering how deep his ambitions lay. He definitely wasn't the hapless intellectual I originally mistook him for.

Friend or foe, I hadn't yet decided. But his father gave me enough pause to see him separately from the rest of his Christian kinsmen. Maybe he was worth more than a fleeting fancy.

Perhaps he would be more successful than I could fathom.

This thought made him all the more alluring, and he noticed. In that moment, his smirk dissolved into a more serious expression as he observed me. Something unspoken passed between us, heavy and palpable. It stole my breath away.

I knew before that I would have to watch Prince Alfred of Wessex.

Now I felt that I would have to do more than watch.

A fierce, inhuman growl sounded in my ears. I cared not.

* * *

 **A/N: A bit shorter than usual, but an update indeed! I appreciate those of you who reviewed, it gave me motivation where it was needed, I assure you :) I look forward to everyone's review more than you can hope to know, so if you're feeling charitable, please drop one for me!**

 **The playlist for this chapter is in keeping with the theme of 'unorthodox as all get out,' but I hope it gives you some good vibes for the read. Some of these are explicit; be warned:**

 **1\. Børns - Blue Madonna**

 **2\. Jenny Mayhem, Tikanter - Rocketship**

 **3\. Lorn - Acid Rain**

 **4\. Simpson - Switch Lanes**

 **5\. Rich Brian - See Me**

 **6\. Emma Gatsby - Young**

 **7\. Ibeyi - River (Oshun Dub)**

 **Until later, blessings on blessings on blessings.**


	17. News from Mercia

Ubbe and Hvitserk had not been so fortunate in their haste to leave England; less than half the men and women had gone with them. There was no way the real Vikings in this Great Heathen Army would leave who they knew to be their true leader. He was thinking of himself, of course.

Ivar the Boneless, son of Ragnar Lothbrok, King of the North Men.

"Where do we go next, brother? Our friends from Norway grow restless," Sigurd's whiny voice cut into his musing.

And Ivar was somehow related to Sigurd Shit in the Eye. He often wondered why Sigurd hadn't chosen to return to Kattegat with their brothers. He certainly seemed to like them better anyway. Sigurd wasn't one for making his own decisions when it came to important matters like allegiance. Ivar had to admit, he respected him just the slightest amount for deciding to stay and fight in England.

"They can wait a bit longer," Ivar drawled.

"But shouldn't we seize the upper hand? Take them now before the Northumbrians have an opportunity to reform their army?"

Ivar had no idea why his brother felt the need to inform him of things he already knew. Mustering up all of his patience with a long intake of air, he ground out,

"Yes, brother. But do you forget where our own King is? Do you not recall he said he would meet us by the Sun's Month?"

"I'm no fool, Ivar. But we still have another fortnight before the month is out," Sigurd shot back, "You would have us delay our Army two weeks in the Christian wilderness?"

"I know this is hard for you to understand, but I have already considered all of this," Ivar was losing his patience. He hated to recall it, but Hel had been the one to come up with this plan. And even though he despised thinking on her for the iron taste it brought to his tongue, he had to admit it was a clever plan if they could pull it off. It all came down to timing.

Ivar would have loved to devise all the number of ways he would torture Hel when he found her, but he found himself distracted.

"And what has you so sure that this is the right thing to do? Sit here and wait?" Sigurd's probing resumed.

"I don't know," Ivar answered, his attention elsewhere. Sigurd looked ready to throttle him. Go ahead, he would be dead faster than he could hit the ground. Ivar snapped his eyes back to his brother witheringly, "I have a feeling."

* * *

I had been in a mood ever since the King's announcement.

Now that the Welsh were on the move to join the forces of Wessex, Prince Æthelwulf contented himself to make preparations for his forces here at the castle. He had ordered the army—which was growing every day as various lords arrived with their banner men—to work on anything that could prevent them from traveling quickly because when the time came, he wished to strike with the element of surprise.

But something did not sit right with me.

The Welsh had simply acquiesced to be part of the English efforts against the North Men without an ounce of resistance. And yet these were the people who the English had constantly brushed aside or discriminated against for hundreds of years now. Gods above, they had outright fought wars for hundreds of years!

I knew the invasion of my people would strike fear into the hearts of the rural Welsh kingdoms, but I had not believed it would cause them to so easily cast away years of strife with Wessex.

I wanted England united under one rule, damn it. Not hastily slapped together only to fall apart at the first sign of defeat or setback.

No, the Welsh were not being entirely forthcoming in their compliance. I could feel it.

I had to speak to Alfred.

* * *

I found him some time later watching his father—well, adoptive father—practice hand to hand combat with his brother, Æthelred. I did not interrupt Alfred in his spectatorship. Instead, I watched him. He had been watching me for months now; it was time that I caught up.

His features betrayed nothing as he surveyed the duel between father and son. I sensed more than saw that he was watching in slight envy of the relationship he never had with Æthelwulf. I had not seen any of his interactions with his stepfather first hand, of course. Only whisperings about the castle.

Judith herself was one of the biggest perpetrators of their family history. To the naked and often blind English eye, nothing was amiss. Æthelwulf had claimed Alfred as his own and that was that. But to someone who knew the story fully—someone like me—I saw signs everywhere. They were certainly a sloppy and unhappy family when it came to their biggest crimes.

Having been taught all the nuances and subtleties of the body's communication separate of the tongue, I could sometimes see Judith's screaming for justice. I could see tears behind her eyes that would not spill no matter how badly they stung. I saw sorrow every single time she looked at Prince Alfred. Sorrow…and hope. What hope she had for the young man, I couldn't fathom at first. But with every passing day, I understood more and more.

Alfred still hadn't noticed me to his side, nor did his expression change, but his eyes spoke every word his mouth didn't. Glancing below, I watched Æthelwulf embrace Æthelred in a bone-crushing hug, their bout evidently concluded.

"You are certainly a dedicated observer, Prince Alfred," I alerted the young man to my presence. He didn't move an inch.

"I could say the same for you, Lady Helena. You have been observing me for quite some time now," he countered.

' _For Gods' sakes.'_

If I didn't already know how perceptive he was, I would've been mildly perturbed at having been caught. Deciding not to comment on it further, I moved to join him fully by the window. Most of the castle's inhabitants lined the open courtyard watching the spectacle.

"Bald had no real work for me today. He said there were more important things to be done," I smirked and gestured down below to where the apothecary stood amongst the crowd, "Much more important things, I see."

Alfred chuckled.

"Most of the court acts as if this is all some great game. As if the Heathens will not touch Wessex," he looked frustrated.

"But _we_ know better," I stated. The Prince's countenance lightened somewhat. I knew he was like his father before him—prone to sullenness and rumination whenever it took him. I had come to associate the characteristics with incredible intelligence.

I had thought the Prince fairly attractive before this, but when his mind wandered off, it was like I could see him as a man several years hence. The trappings of youth fell away and his hardened brow brought him the distinguished air of someone older and worldlier. His long, aristocratic nose sloped down to his soft mouth, poised for the commanding.

He was breathtaking.

The observation made my brows furrow and mouth fall open slightly in puzzlement. I had thought that when the Gods sent me here that my fate was somehow still connected to Ivar. And as such, I thought their influences would cause me to have eyes for no other man. That clearly wasn't true here.

Alfred chose this moment to look over, and confusion overtook his features when he saw my own expression. Normally, having been caught mid-stare, I would have swiftly looked away or changed the subject. But something held my attention rapt.

A long-dead feeling stirred in the pits of my stomach. My head, neck, and shoulders experienced a cold shudder while a golden aura encircled my vision. My face softened helplessly at the sensations I had so missed.

' _Oh, not again,'_ my thoughts managed to contradict.

The Gods were here. They were sanctifying my time with this _Englishman_.

Alfred spoke not a word, and his perplexed stare soon gave way to subdued fascination as he watched me.

' _He cannot know. He cannot possibly feel what is happening.'_ Alfred was not Viking. He did not know my Gods or their workings.

He continued to watch me as his hand lifted ever so slowly to reach out and touch a stray lock of hair next to my cheek. At the contact, the sensations ignited tenfold. Alfred looked around the empty corridor as if seeking out the source of our shared experience.

' _He_ does _know.'_

In one quick sweep, the Prince brought his eyes back to mine and searched them feverishly.

"The Holy Spirit is here," he whispered.

His Holy Spirit or my Gods? I didn't quite care anymore. Our interaction was being consecrated, and I didn't feel all that out of place.

Our faces were being drawn closer together, and I felt all the months of pent up energy and focus ready to be unleashed onto him. I paused momentarily, a pair of blue-green eyes stealing their way into my mind.

' _Not now.'_ This had been one of the few times Ivar had crossed my mind during waking hours. No matter how little I thought of him throughout the day, he came to plague my dreams at night. I had not slept a wink in England without Ivar there—quiet, seething, savage. And now he was choosing to rear his head again when I was about to find freedom in someone else.

Alfred must've mistaken my hesitation for expectation on his part, and he pushed me lightly back onto wall of the rampart. I had seen some sides of him, but _this_ was certainly one I had not expected to see.

At least not so soon.

I looked up into his eyes and was lost in the power I saw there. We were so close; I could feel his breath on my lips. I breathed one shaky exhale and inclined my head upwards.

The long, wailing bellow of a horn sounded somewhere in the distance.

We moved apart promptly, and Alfred placed a hand on my shoulder while he moved to look out the stone opening. I took a moment to compose myself and peered out the window as well.

The courtyard was full of Englishmen shouting and scrambling to meet whatever was headed our way. Æthelwulf moved steadily toward the gate, ever the brave commander.

"What do you see?" he shouted up to the soldier on the watchtower. The guard took a moment before answering.

"It looks to be a messenger, Sire."

"What banner does he fly?"

Another pause.

"It is a yellow cross on blue backing, Highness."

Prince Æthelwulf turned to the doors that led to the great hall.

"Let His Majesty know an envoy from Mercia approaches."

More scrambling.

If this was the caliber of performance to be expected from the warriors of Wessex, their cause was doomed.

Prince Alfred stepped back from the window and turned to look at me with a half-smile.

"Shall we?" he spoke, extending a hand. I reached out to clasp it daintily and began to walk with him down to the throne room.

Wanting an Englishman meant wanting him to succeed, and I couldn't have that. The English were our enemy, no matter how compelling their Princes.

I would think on what had just happened between Alfred and I later. For now, there was news from Mercia to be heard.

I sent up a prayer to Freyja to dull the longing within me.

* * *

It was as if they'd never been gone. Ubbe and Hvitserk had been welcomed home by the young, the aged, and the fragile with open arms and hearty cries. Their people really loved them; Signe saw that. Their love for the young royals was something she could use. Twist, turn, and bring back around until Kattegat knew nothing but what she wanted them to know.

The reigning King was gone, and the Dowager Queen sat lonely upon the empty throne. Signe thought it ripe for the picking. It really was all too easy. The sons of the great Ragnar Lothbrok were more obtuse than she could have hoped.

 _'I will have my throne.'_

She had grown up in too hostile an environment, in too unforgiving a place to expect anything less. She had crawled her way up from nothing to become one of the trusted envoys of the East. She had bartered, enticed, and coerced to achieve all that she had, and nothing was going to stop her. _No one_ was going to stop her—especially not some cripple. She would have her revenge on him.

Signe spied Hvitserk making merry as part of the homecoming celebration. His eye roved over the sparse number of women in the crowd, lingering a bit too long on those he found enticing. He lifted his mug to take a long, frothy gulp, and when he lowered it, he found Signe's stare waiting for him. Taking it as an invitation, Hvitserk stood to walk over.

 _'Child's play,'_ she thought coldly to herself.

Of all the brothers, Hvitserk Ragnarson was the most easily influenced by the opposite sex. And she would use that to her advantage now.

Signe had grand plans for Kattegat. Love, death, and power in equal parts. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

So they had gone through with it. They had carried out the plan that I myself had pieced together for them. I looked down guiltily at the floor for a moment before I got a handle on myself. Glancing back up at the royal family, I saw the news take its toll on each of them.

"How many would you say have joined them?" King Egbert questioned haggardly from his throne. The man from Mercia scanned forlornly the faces of those present before replying.

"They have doubled their number, Your Highness. Including the Frankish Soldiers, I'd say they have at least 5,000 men," he finished.

"Ah! That is good news indeed," Prince Æthelwulf interjected. He turned to face the hall full of courtiers, "We have at least 7,000 men in Wessex alone. And with the help of our allies in Mercia and Wales, we shall have much more when the Heathens make their way south."

"Yes, Sire," the messenger interjected quietly, "But their men fight with a ferocity I have never seen. They seem to lose themselves in battle and become mad with fury. It is a terrifying sight."

Æthelwulf let out a frustrated breath through his nostrils. The gallery started to ring with frightened whispers and small cries. A swelling of pride came unbidden to my chest at seeing the fear that my people struck in the hearts of these Christians.

"Then we must be fiercer, bolder, and stronger!" Æthelred cried. It took me quite by surprise. He had always been so silent and sullen except when he was fighting.

The hall erupted into a chorus of cheers. Fight they would.

 _'And die,'_ I concluded.

Every moment of every hour was propelling me closer to my destiny; I could feel it humming in my blood. I smiled brilliantly in anticipation.

It was then that I noticed Alfred glancing my way. He smiled in return, thinking I was happy for fortune of the English. I did not yet know exactly how the future would unfold, but I did not see a feasible outcome where the young Prince and I wound up on the same side of affairs.

"So it is settled," Egbert concluded, "Come first light, you will ride for Mercia."

"And we will bring the Heathen Horde to their knees!" Prince Æthelwulf shouted, sword in the air.

* * *

That night, after having gathered all of my things together—really just a few samples of the plants and concoctions I had brought on my first raid to England by way of protection—I laid down to rest. Three steady raps sounded on the door.

Strange. No one ever came to my chambers besides the handmaidens.

I grasped the Hel stone underneath my pillow and sent up a quick prayer for protection. Standing soundlessly and grabbing a poker from the hearth, I moved toward the door.

"Who goes there?" I asked, heart pounding in my throat. Had someone been sent to kill me? For what reason? And why were they knocking?

"It's me," came the deadpan response. Alfred.

Oh, good. Well since I probably wasn't going to die this night, I thought I'd have some fun.

"Me who?"

"I know you're jesting."

"I could never! Now I say, who goes there? If you don't answer me forthwith, I shall have to sound for the guards and—"

The door burst open and immediately shut with a clang while I was encircled in a pair of arms, a hand covering my mouth. The poker clattered to the floor, and my breathing grew heavy with the surprise of his barging in. I felt the Prince's chest heaving behind me as well. This was certainly a different side of the mild-mannered Alfred I had seen in the past.

"Would you give me up so easily?" he asked in a whisper next to my ear.

I had no idea what on Midgard he was doing, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. Slowly, he released me so that I could turn to face him.

"I was only fooling, Prince. Now, really, what _are_ you doing here at midnight?"

His arms fell at his sides as if resolving himself to speak, "I had to see you before I leave to fight the Heathens tomorrow."

This silly boy thought I was going to stay behind. And so I would let him think that. It would be far more interesting to see what he would do if he thought we should part in the morn.

"And why is that, Your Highness?" I inquired further. Alfred sighed in frustration.

"Please, call me Alfred."

"And _why_ would I do that, Your Highness?" His impatience was rising. I loved to watch him grow flustered, even more so because he rarely ever did.

"I believe we are friends, Lady Helena. Am I wrong in that assumption?" his voice betrayed the smallest hint of restraint. I was getting to him.

"So I may call you Alfred, but you would still call me Lady Helena? This is all very confusing, Your Highness." Disbelief colored his features. I could almost hear him wondering how he could have mistaken me for someone with intelligence. He did not know me so fully as he thought he did. I was having a grand old time.

"No, absolutely not. We would simply call each other by our first names in private and by our formal titles in public," he explained. He had unwittingly laid a trap in his words. Now I would spring it.

"And do you expect to be in private with me much more often, Your Highness?"

The stunned expression that crossed his face was priceless. I couldn't help the laughter that came tumbling out, and it only got worse when he realized I had been stringing him along the whole time. The Prince scoffed once in disbelief and surveyed me as I devolved into a mass of tears and madness.

After some moments, the mirth began to ebb from my body and I was able to regain some semblance of composure. My cheeks and stomach hurt, and I was sure I looked like a wild woman. A real North Woman.

Alfred followed my movements as I recovered myself, and with one final hiccup I grew silent. I looked back into his scrutinizing gaze and wondered what he could be thinking. The room grew still about us and I swore the only sounds came from my own heavily beating heart. The Prince's eyebrows drew downwards as if he were angry all of a sudden.

"Is there something—"

He was on me in an instant.

My back hit the stone wall behind me as his mouth attacked my own, but I felt no pain. I barely appreciated a moment of astonishment before I set into action. Forwardness was the exact last thing I expected from this young monarch, but I was definitely enjoying it now that it was here.

I allowed my hands to roam wherever they wanted—up through his hair, down his back, behind his arms. His hands heavily gripped my cheeks as if he could communicate all of his passion through them, but I had to admit, his lips were doing a fine job on their own.

I moved my mouth down to lick and nip at his neck. Alfred moaned slightly before cutting himself off by closing his mouth and releasing a harsh breath through his nose. He did not want to make noise? I could have him screaming for all of Wessex to hear if I so desired.

Leaning back, I gazed up into his face. He lifted his eyelids to return the stare. I could practically feel him shaking with need, but he did not look defeated by it. He beheld me like I was a gift to be opened; a delicacy to be savored. Something that he would take his time with in devouring.

I shivered underneath him.

Craning my neck once more, we shared a final kiss that was meant to last him through the campaign. Or at least he thought it was going to be our final kiss. Why not give him something to pine over before he realized I would be right next to him the whole time?

I drew his lower lip out with my teeth—something I was incredibly fond of in stoking the fires of a man's desire. He almost moaned again, but instead of releasing it, he grabbed my waist and squeezed desperately. His restraint was admirable, but so was my resolve.

Alfred used his grip to push me away a bit, and then leaned down deftly to place a lingering kiss on my forehead before stepping out of the room altogether.

He was completely different from Ivar. Where Ivar was all hard lines and anger, Alfred was well-meaning intention and gentleness.

' _Well, gentleness unless some roughness is needed,'_ I thought wryly to myself. A grin stole its way onto my face as I daintily touched my lips. Though I could try to convince myself until Ragnarok that I was merely toying with the English prince, my spirit told me otherwise.

There was much rumination to be done, but now wasn't the time. The men of Wessex were leaving promptly at dawn, and I had to be ready to join them.

Nestling under the covers, I lay down for another night of heavy sleep and prayed to Niorun for respite from dreams. I could not meet Ivar's eyes, especially not after what I had just done with the Alfred.

But that was the thing with dreams. Rarely did we ever have a choice in them. We were merely their slaves, meant to play out whatever horrendous situations they could conjure up in the mind's eye.

As I drifted off into unconsciousness, I felt different. The burn from a few days prior started lowly on my skin, but the darkness consumed me before I could attempt to provide relief. Ivar's ire was palpable on my body, and I sensed my soul being carried somewhere.

My mind was quite more active than it had ever been while I slept before, and it felt quite like when I had asked for the night goddess' help in teaching Ivar a lesson. Only this time, I was at the goddess' mercy. This was not my domain.

When my surroundings materialized around me, I recognized where I was immediately. The same field in England where Ivar had dreamed he would win a great victory all those many nights ago.

I was back in his dreams.

But I had performed no blood magic! How could I be here? Was his anger really so powerful?

At that moment, piercing screams filled the air before they turned into a sad, dying gurgle. I would not admit it, but those screams sounded so _familiar_.

I ran in the direction I had heard them coming from and saw a cluster of large trees manifest in front of me. I clattered through the branches and stepped over many a fallen limb to find out what—who—had made that horrifying sound. I had to know.

I reached a couple of tall bushes, and pulled one back apprehensively to gaze into a clearing just ahead.

There before me, standing in pool of blood next to my own mangled corpse, was Ivar the Boneless. His gory sword hung low in his hand, and his chest heaved with the relief that follows the long-awaited release of fury. I could not see his face, but I believed it too would be twisted in a combination of glee and madness.

I wanted to cry, to scream. To release every unnamed emotion I felt at that moment in one ghastly bellow and hope against everything that he might understand why I did what I did. Why I left him.

But I could not. I caused him to act this way, even if it was only in his dreams. He hated me so much that he wanted me dead, and this was his field of play to enact his aims. Sorrow rocked me from the core. To be so close to someone kindred and not even recognize him because he had been fundamentally changed by what _I_ had done.

' _I've ruined him.'_

His leather-clad shoulders began to shake, and I awaited the sound of pealing laughter to reach my ears.

' _I've ruined_ us _.'_

But instead of laughter, the silence grew. His shoulders shuddered still, and I couldn't help but watch pitifully.

With one agonizingly long wail, Ivar collapsed to one knee on the ground next to my body. He reached out a hand to smooth the hair back on what was left of my head.

' _He's upset?'_

Any trace of anger or apprehension I still possessed departed me swiftly, and I was left hollow in its wake. I had to be closer to him. I had to touch him. Tentatively, I took a step forward to be nearer to the hurting boy.

As if he felt my arrival, Ivar slowly turned his head to face me, tear stains evident on his reddened cheeks.

In an instant, the scene fell away until I was surrounded in cold, dark blackness. I could only see Ivar kneeling on the ground, face turned toward mine, and eyes full of all the agony and ire the Gods could bestow on a mortal.

I had entered the jaws of the serpent.

I wondered when they would snap shut.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello, yes. It's me. This chapter was incredibly fun to write, mostly because I put on too many trippy rock songs from the 90s and let my mind go a-wandering. Leave a review, if you please! Only trying to get better here :)**

 **Playlist as promised:**

 **1\. Charlotte Gainsbourg - Deadly Valentine**

 **2\. Chromatics - Cherry**

 **3\. The Stone Roses - I Wanna Be Adored**

 **4\. Mazzy Star - Fade Into You**

 **5\. Slowdive - Crazy For You**

 **6\. Pale Honey - Why Do I Always Feel This Way**

 **7\. Millions - Agony & Ecstasy**

 **Stay blessed.**


	18. Author's Note

Hi, all!

Let me start by saying thank you so much for giving a damn about this story.

You all deserve not only quality but also consistency from those authors you choose to sacrifice your personal time to read and follow. So rather than post yet another unexpected and sporadic update, I'm asking for a bit of time.

Not much. Maybe a couple of more months.

I ask for this with the express intention that I will complete the story in its entirety and begin to post consistently every one to two weeks. I've been making a few changes in my life and have reordered my priorities to go after those things that I truly care about.

I want to wrap this up cleanly, and I'm sure you do too.

Thank you for reading, and I'm so thankful that you choose to stick with me :)

Bless,

Sophia

 **P.S. If you'd like to see something take place in the story, say so now before it's too late!**


	19. A Martyr's Death

**A/N: This chapter is incredibly gruesome. Be wary.**

 **Also, the rating of this story will change to (M) when I post the next chapter simply due to increasing violence and sexual situations.**

* * *

A clatter faintly resembling the crunching of bones gnawed at my ears. It was a fast, tumbling cacophony that drowned out all else.

There was me and him. Him and I. And the sounds. Nothing else.

A slow, heavy breeze brought me out of my daze and back to the Viking that stood before me.  
Ivar had lost the youthfulness that used to cling to him. It was etched in his hard brow and even harder eyes. Though I spotted quickly drying tears, I could see no mercy in his gaze. I made note of the bloody sword still in his grip. A tiny flutter stole my heart.

Doubt flitted across his features, as if my visage had been present in his dreams many times before, but I knew he felt it. That this time was real. I was truly with him.

Moments dragged on ever so slowly as we could do naught but watch each other. I wondered absently how long this game would last.

Ivar looked as if he would lose himself—his eyes grew wide in disbelief and his mouth opened slightly. If this had been a happier reunion, he might've even smiled. Perhaps there was hope still. Hope to salvage and rebuild. He had to see the benefit in that, no?

A small swelling of anticipation bubbled up in my chest, and I grinned widely, "Ivar, I—"

His free hand was around my neck in an instant, closing off all chance of air. A silent scream escaped my rapidly bluing lips, and I clawed at whatever parts of him I could manage. His hands, his chest, his arms. Nothing moved him.

With increasing pressure around my throat, he drew me closer until our noses touched.

I felt the snarl before I heard it. It started somewhere deep in his chest, low and guttural. The warning of a wolf.

"Run."

I sat in disbelief. A soft wind caressed my cheek as I took in the forest that now surrounded me. The trees all around appeared sickly and mottled and grew so closely together that barely a ray of sunlight found its way to the forest floor. The air hung hot and heavy with a sweet smell, but there was a stench of death beneath it. This wasn't a forest; it was a burial site. Perhaps mine.

I almost forgot what was happening and who with for taking in the monstrous wonder of it all.

"RUN!" he bellowed.

I took off as fast as my legs could carry me. I feared the Gods themselves were cowering in Asgard. How could they put me here? How could they let this happen to me? I used to think that nothing could happen in the land of the Night Mare, but Ivar's wrath had a magic all of its own. Who knew what he was capable of?

I knew from the moment my foot lifted from the ground that my fleeing was useless. This was Ivar's domain, and his influence knew no bounds. I darted this way and that, turning so as to throw Ivar off my trail, but I knew he was never far.

The wilting trees passed by in a blur, falling into one long line of teal. My breathing flared erratically in my chest making my throat and mouth burn with dryness. The wind that rushed past my ears sounded like a steady stream of laughter. _His_ laughter.

I began to notice breaks in the never-ending forest's greenery, what looked like giant black shapes. The same height, the same murkiness, and at the same interval. In fact, when I concentrated they looked almost like a _man_.

It was him—it was Ivar.

He never even bothered to run after me. He had shaped his world so that I was running in circles! It was no use.

I stopped, breathing ragged and hands on my knees.

Where was he? What would he do to me? I was without spiritual guidance in this realm, and it scared me to death.

I didn't bother to lift my head when I eventually heard his agonizingly slow footfalls on the soft bed of leaves that made up the forest floor. With each step, my fear grew, but still I did not turn to look at him. I just couldn't.

I felt his movements cease right behind me, and we stood in near silence for a few moments. The only sounds that punctuated the air were our breaths—his deep and mine frantic. He seemed almost calm.

Time passed again.

I sensed that his internal struggle over what to do with me had been made up long ago, and he was now getting to enact his bidding. I sensed resoluteness in the air about him. Ivar always displayed steadfast determination in one capacity: death.

"Get on your knees," he spoke softly.

A choked sob escaped against my will. I bent down slowly.

"Shh, shh, there's no need to cry," the taunting words came. His firm hand reached up to stroke the top of my head like a small, wayward child, "There now, good girl."

I did my best to stem the flow of tears, for what was the point in crying if one simply did not know what was going to happen? Siggy often reminded me that it wouldn't do to cry. Crying fixed nothing.

Ivar's languid petting transformed into heavy pats. He must've been doing his best to restrain himself, but was obviously losing the battle.

All at once, he seized my hair in a raging fistful. My neck whipped back as I let out a surprised yelp. His face hovered directly over mine, seething—but even more reviling, it was controlled.

His countenance remained constrained, and he spoke no more. I was convinced he would slit my throat then and there. This might've been a dream, but I knew he wished it to be real. To cut me open and lay me bare in a pool of my own blood in the forests of Midgard where I could not escape the coward's death he was so willing to give me.

But I was not a coward. Far from it.

I had done more than most, and I certainly hadn't run from him. I had run _to_ something. To England. To victory.

My breathing calmed substantially at the thought, and I was able to open my eyes a bit to take in the look of him.

Something I had failed to note in my fear was that underneath his terrifying exterior, there lay a hint of fascination. Or perhaps it was a sense of greed fully realized and come to fruition. He finally had in his grasp what he had been so ardently seeking.

His eyes widened at my sudden change in countenance.

He was seeing me again, seeing me as more than just the object of his anger. I was no longer a fearful doe ready for the killing. I was human again.

"Hello, Ivar," I breathed. His grip on my hair loosened a sliver, but he did not let go.

He stared blankly back at me, unsure.

Unsure of what? It was just me. Perhaps he did not expect me to so easily adapt to his raging bloodlust. Little did he know that I was born from death, selfishness, and sadness. His thirst for killing could not scare me any longer. No matter how our time in the Hrímfaxi's Night ended, I would not die. I _refused_ to allow it. Ivar's anger might have had the power to summon me here, but I would not succumb to it.

An ethereal calm stole my heart.

I reached a hand up slowly to touch his face from my bent backward position and whispered, "I have missed you."

Ivar nuzzled his face into my palm, forgetting himself for a small time and shutting his eyes distractedly. For a moment, he let himself just be.

But he did not stay that way for long.

All at once, he renewed his vice grip on my hair and dragged my head back to press his face fully to the side of my own.

Inhaling deeply, he let out in a deathly menacing tone, "Then why did you leave?"

I breathed in sharply at his sudden harshness, "You gave me no choice."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" he hissed.

"How long did you expect me to sit there, Ivar? Waiting for you to realize that we have no time for child's play?" I finished briskly. I spit ungracefully on the ground in his direction.

He looked ready to respond with whatever scathing remark came naturally to him, but stopped. His eyes wandered over my sullied dress—red with a gold brocade winding its way around the shoulders and down between my breasts. The dark green cape draped over it was sewn from a very thin material; used mainly for decoration and not for warmth. The final touch was a thin braided gold cord that sat upon my head like a crown. All of my hair was twisted back around this cord, adding a regal air to it.

I knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth, his tone dark and condemning, "You are dressed like them."

I spoke not a word in response, hesitant to give myself up too freely.

"You are here," his eyes narrowed dangerously, "But where?"

Ivar was smart. When looking for an answer, he always found it. The small challenge of my whereabouts was nothing for him. His eyes looked about me again, discerning.

I hoped he wouldn't see it, but I also knew that he didn't need to. There was only one place in England where I had any semblance of social standing though it was tenuous at best. He was merely looking for confirmation.

Ivar's blue-green orbs locked onto the single, damning piece of jewelry that clung to my chest. One corner of his mouth perked upward, yet he still managed to look hurt, "Wessex, then."

It was a dragon—a _wyvern_ it was called, I had come to learn—with a red ruby for an eye. Ivar had spotted the small golden brooch His Majesty had given me in the early moments of my arrival to England; a small token of his appreciation for my "defection" and flight to his aid. I only wore it to keep up appearances, but Ivar couldn't possibly understand that. Surely not given the situation I had put him in.

' _Really, the situation he put himself in.'_

It wasn't my fault that I left! I had to do something—anything—to make him see that our fates were not trifles to be toyed with, and that I was most certainly not one to come second to anyone else. No, no. He had made his bed, and I had forced him to lie in it.

"Wessex, then, indeed," I affirmed. I might've been a tad more cautious, but I hadn't the energy to cater to him any longer. I felt for him, but I cared for myself more.

His face remained an open book: there was betrayal, sadness, and most abundantly, anger. No, _fury_. He remembered every word I had spoken over him. I had shown him long ago the depth of my ambitions and just how easily I could attain them, with or without him. He chose his path.

"I told you what would happen if you crossed me again, Ivar the Boneless," I reminded him, "Now I will let you eat the fruit of your deeds."

Ivar snarled at my irreverence and took a quick, scathing inventory once more. His eyes snapped to the chain around my throat—another gift of Egbert's. Only this one was much, _much_ worse, for from its swinging length hung a gaudy cross made of large, gleaming white pearls.

' _Shit.'_

The ire in him boiled over and he shoved me forward into the soil. I had no time to react before he was on me again, only this time on all fours. I could barely breathe as he pushed my face further into dirt. He lowered his mouth next to my ear, seething and hissing, "You are a _Christian_ now?"

Ivar's nostrils flared and I felt his furious hot breaths hitting my cheek. His teeth latched on to the top of my ear unforgivingly causing me to shout in surprise.

He released the piece in his mouth to lick the shell, "I will remind you what it is to be a heathen."

* * *

I was on a raised wooden platform, the only light given off by several glowing torches driven into the ground around its edges. A faint drumbeat sounded drudgingly in the distance. My hands were tied to two poles in the center of the stand with just enough room for me to kneel neatly between them.

I knew this place.

A crowd of faceless bodies materialized from the dark places where the light couldn't reach. Their gaunt limbs hung loosely at their sides. Their only coverings were the garlands of bones (animal or human, I couldn't be sure) that tied them all together in one circular mass.

I _knew_ this place.

It was the sacred convening ground of the mortal and divine. I could feel the woodland spirits dancing amongst the far-off pines.

Ivar had brought me here. But _why?_

He had shown himself on numerous occasions so far to be nothing if not irreverent toward the Gods. It took my Goddess manifesting herself before he bent to our will. I was in the place of holy rites; the place where our people made sacrifices to Asgard and its inhabitants. So why here?

A lone figure broke free from the crowd, his hearty swagger only hindered by the lazy drag of the axe as it swung back and forth in his grip. His piercing blue-green eyes never once left me in my subdued state.

An unhealthy panic burst within my chest, and I renewed the struggle against my bindings with an unholy fervor.

But it was no use.

He was upon me, and he was going to enjoy every twisted moment we shared.

The splitting of the skin along my spine stung hot like a hand thrust into a fire. I sobbed under the weight of the ordeal Ivar had chosen for me to endure.

"Ivar, please!" I managed to shout in my anguish.

He said nothing, but continued at his carver's work instead.

 _'Not this,'_ I pleaded, _'Anything but this.'_

He was splitting me open—presenting my innards to the formless crowd that gathered to watch. The drumbeat grew louder and faster until my head felt it would split just as easily as the skin at my back had. Forever in a lifetime passed, and the blinding pain never ceased.

 _'I should be dead,'_ even my thoughts sounded drained, _'Why will I not die?'_

"Because," Ivar spoke aloud as if the answer was obvious. He could even hear my thoughts in this terrible place. I felt the smile in his words, "I do not want you to."

I screamed in terror. Had the Gods completely forsaken me? Would they not rescue me from the monstrosity that was Ivar's bidding?  
 _'How could you leave me like this?'_

Ivar sneered, "Like what? Like how you left me?"

He was mad with fury and power. His ecstasy overwhelmed me even in my weakened state. Though I begged for death, nothing came.

The final touch.

He drew out one gasping lung at a time and draped it over its respective shoulder.

There I was.

A slaughter upon the altar.

A blood eagle.

Ivar had taken me and turned me into what I feared most.

No one. Nothing.

I felt the last breaths that my body could take before it finally began to give way. I was dying.

The light drew in around the edges of my vision, and the pain started to fade into the black nothingness around me. Everything was softer, milder. Gaping wounds were not so significant, and neither were broken hearts.

 _'Finally.'_

I was falling for a moment before I landed hard on solid ground. I gasped desperately for air, my body completely mended and working as if nothing had ever happened. My hands darted all over my frame, ensuring everything was in its proper place. I had been given life in this dream world once more, and I was sure that did not bode well for me.

Where was he?

The golden chain that still hung traitorously from my neck was drawn up in a vice hold, stealing what small glorious bits of air I had just taken in.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I could do nothing.

The warmth of Ivar's body drew close behind me as he pulled me further back, refusing to let up on his clutch around my neck for a single moment. I clawed pathetically at his hands and arms, but there was no point. He had won.

His face pressed up to mine and drew one long deep breath. If he hadn't been trying to kill me, I would have almost found it loving.

"You will die when I say you can," he spoke lowly. The rumble in his chest played against my back, "Not sooner, not later."

That was it. His parting message.

With a hard kiss at my temple, and a great shove of contempt, I was thrown from him onto the forest floor. Back amongst the fading pines.

I spied his retreating form as he wound his way through the trees. My face betrayed the horror I felt, and I could only watch in bewilderment. My hands shook with a mightiness that rivaled any dying man's. My throat burned dry, and I yearned for a cup of ale. I looked around the glen and wondered what I might do next. Where was I supposed to go? What in all of Helheim had just fucking happened?

I heard what sounded like a stretching snap and glanced up in time to see Ivar loosing an arrow dead at my heart.

Blackness.

* * *

I sat up in bed with a scream. Cold sweat covered every inch of my skin. My chest ached with every breath I took. The shakiness that swept through me demanded my full attention. There would be no chance of regaining a sound slumber this night. Grabbing a discarded fur from the end of the bed and exiting the chamber, I resolved to extinguish the flame Ivar had so readily ignited in the pit of my stomach.

A looking glass lay in wait at the end of the dimly lit corridor. I approached it wearily, wondering if my own likeness would be waiting for me on the other side. For some reason, I was convinced that Ivar's hatred had transformed me into the monster he saw instead. Swallowing my apprehension, I came face to face with my reflection.

There I was peering wearily pack. I appeared unchanged—the same golden brown hair; the same green eyes; the same ears, nose, and mouth.

The only difference was the red, puffy likeness of a chain that encircled my throat.

* * *

 **A/N: And so it begins! I will be posting every Wednesday night at 6pm. I hope you'll join me for the rest of the journey :)**

 **If you're the sort of person who enjoys a good tune with their reading, then here's one for you:**

 **DOPE LEMON - Where Do You Go**

 **See you soon!**


	20. Reconciliation

If ever there was a time to be miserable, it was now.

My head throbbed from lack of sleep, and I had already drained my flagon containing the day's allotted water. A shawl was drawn up around my neck despite the unforgiving heat in the midday sun. My steed soldiered on almost unwillingly as if he shared my bitterness.

All of the arrangements for my travel had been made at the personal request of the King. He had not been eager to permit my absence. In fact, he had been vehemently opposed to it.

Considering I would be on the frontlines with all the bargaining power of a simpering fool, it had not seemed like a wise choice. The English formation around me could certainly parcel together enough of the Welsh language to bridge any strategic gaps. My token words in the language would not get us there. As far as King Egbert was concerned, I had no tactical knowledge, not even a vague understanding of politics, and definitely no means of self-defense.

In the end, it was my heritage that won the argument. How could an army effectively communicate with an enemy once they were prepared to surrender if it could not understand them?

Once it had been made abundantly clear that I would remain bull-headed on the matter regardless of any countering opinions, the King had begrudgingly given his consent. The horse was made ready, my satchels brought down, and I was prepared to be underway with the troops of Wessex.

How different my life had turned out than I had imagined. I was a young woman working to maneuver kingdoms against one another—much farther and much faster than I anticipated.

What's more, my relationship with the Gods was becoming more tumultuous with each passing day, but when I removed myself from the problems at hand, I could see that things were ultimately in my favor. I had to have faith.

Perhaps there was a reason I had been brought to Ivar last night; maybe it had been part of something greater. At least that was what I had chosen to tell myself to attribute some meaning to it. I just couldn't accept that it had all been for the sake of Ivar's brute will. It certainly attested to the internal fortitude of the head of the heathen horde, but it had to be more significant than that. It had to be.

Despite all that had happened, I had faith that our fates were intertwined yet. What would come of us, I couldn't possibly fathom, but I knew something would.

The thought alone left the taste of an iron resolution in my mouth. Now was the hour when my real trials began—hardship was finally upon me. I might have been hesitant, but I had to carry on. There was no turning back.

When the sun started to dip a bit too low for the Crown Prince's liking, we chose a convenient spot to camp out for the night. No ordinary setting would do; we were moving with an army after all. A large, open field with plenty of space. I hated it because it left us completely exposed. If these English could only learn to abandon their tents and hide out amongst the never-ending forests of their countryside, they would be lethal.

This sentiment, coupled with the latent heat of the day, caused me to cast off the shawl I had been grasping at firmly in a sort of release.

"Lady Helena?"

Clutching at my shawl and draping it around my neck and shoulders once more, I turned to face the familiar voice of one I had not expected to encounter so soon.

Prince Alfred's eyes were narrowed in scrutiny as if he couldn't believe what he saw.

Ah, well. No time like the present.

"Good evening, Prince," I greeted sweetly. Perhaps I didn't need to lay it on so thick, but this appeared to be another opportunity to take advantage of the poor young man's unassuming nature.

We had spent all day long riding at opposite ends of the formation. I had made sure of it.

If I knew Alfred, he had portably spent at least some portion of his day ruminating on the happenings in my chambers the night before, dissecting and analyzing them. Wondering what it was that I had been thinking during all of it and how that reflected his own thoughts.

Poor thing. I had been only a short distance away the whole day through.

He approached me swiftly, his brow set in a hard line. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"And what do you mean by that, good Sir?" I let slip some of the mischievousness that had settled on my heart.

He appeared not to be in the mood for jesting as he grabbed me by the arm and marched us both into the nearby wood line.

Once clear of the bustle of the camp and free from prying eyes, he swung me around to face him and wasted no time in giving a speech.

"You know exactly what I mean. A campaign is no place for a lady such as yourself," he chastised.

"Oh, I see. I'll just start back for Wessex then," I conceded facetiously while taking a few steps away from him, "Don't worry! I'll send word when my journey has safely ended."

The Prince exhaled loudly through his nose, obviously allowing the antagonism to get to him. He took hold of my arm once more and revolved me back to my original place.

"Helena, stop this madness. You know what I mean," he ground out, "Why did you come?"

"Why would I not?" I reasoned, changing my countenance to suit his own seriousness. It was the only way to communicate with men once they decided something was dire, "I have all the knowledge we can hope to when it comes to the North Men. I know their strength, their tactics, their language. I can help us _win_."

The reason appealed to him, I could tell. He was thinking it over; the fire burned brightly behind his eyes and his stare remained fixed. The air around us grew heavy with anticipation.

"I thought yesterday was the last time I might see you," he spoke lowly.

"That might explain your rash behavior."

"Why did you not stop me then?" he defied. He did not move, but it felt the space around me was being taken up by his presence. His eyes bored into mine, seeking a response. Demanding it.

I could not give him what he wanted because I did not rightly know the answer myself.

"Well?" he probed, his impatience getting the better of him.

He seemed quite out of sorts. Alfred rarely lost his patience, if ever he had at all. Something must've had him truly irked to cause him to behave this way.

"What's the matter?" I questioned lightly. Whatever was bothering him, he played it close to his chest. He didn't answer and averted his eyes to the ground.

The Prince had often so clearly and articulately conveyed exactly what he felt in the past. Why, look at his conduct even last night! What had changed him so? Certainly not my actions.

Right?

"Alfred?" I reached a hand up to touch his arm tentatively. His eyes shot back up to mine, wrought with contempt, and he visibly flinched backwards out of my grasp. A rosiness overcame his youthful features, and he took a moment to compose himself before looking back up at me.

"I would prefer it if you referred to me by my full title," he corrected and began his retreat back out of the trees.

"Alfred!" I called. My plea fell on deaf ears as he carried on in his march. Could he really be that upset that I didn't share my attendance here with him? No, it simply wasn't possible.

Alfred was calm, levelheaded, and discerning. He didn't let his emotions run him ragged. If he felt betrayed, it was for something far worse than toying with him.

Now what had I done?

* * *

The sun hung low in the sky and musky smoke trails could be seen winding their way upward wherever the trees parted. We had halted our march a short while ago and made camp at the edge of an open field comprised of high rolling hills that carried on as far as the eye could see.

The Prince refused to acknowledge me for the duration of the army's movement into Mercia over the next few days no matter how many times I tried to gain his attention. It made no sense to me.

So I hadn't told him that I intended to join the campaign. Could he blame me? It had been difficult enough to garner the approval of the King himself; I simply wouldn't have had the energy to disarm everyone else's objections too.

All I wanted was to play an active role in engineering this victory. Whose victory? I myself wasn't so sure where my sentiments lay at the moment.

My blood was that of the North Men. They were my people through and through. My Gods as well. I thought they were the only ones who had any influence in this world, and thus, were the only ones that mattered.

But after that interaction with Alfred and the holy blessing that befell us, I couldn't be so sure anymore. Was the Christian God as real as my own? As much as I wanted to outright deny it, I simply couldn't.

' _Alfred.'_

The thought crossed my mind unbidden. Unwelcome.

I had never had the opportunity to discuss Wales' participation in the defense of the English kingdoms with him. I had not sat down with the Prince to review the battle plan his father had come up with and give my counsel. I hadn't spoken to him of _anything_.

Helheim, it wasn't just the lack of planning and coordination that was driving me mad. It was the lack of company.

His company.

I often stared as long as my nerves would allow.

He had only been my friend for a short time, but he had created such a profound impact in that time. He knew the smarts I possessed and knew my aims (more or less). We had joked and laughed and made the castle at Wessex a livable place. Well, at least he had for me. He was the only person in all of England who knew me as I was.

 _'Besides Ivar.'_

The unprovoked mental interjection set my back straight as a rod, and I sat rigid on a tree stump next to my furs.

No. I was not doing this again.

I had practically ripped one relationship to shreds with my actions, and I prayed the Gods would set it right.

But Alfred was not at the mercy of my deities, and I could not merely pray for a change of heart in him. He served his One True God, the Christian God.

And regardless of who he prayed to, I did not want to lose him the way I had Ivar. I would fix this. I had to.

The royal command tent lay some distance away in the center of the camp. I spied the sentries posted about the entrances, pikes and shields at the ready. It presented a more intimidating picture than I cared to admit, even from these feeble Englishmen.

With a heavy step and an even heavier heart, I wound my way through the clusters of soldiers, horses, tents, and armor.

The English army was a mass of distrusting faces and hushed conspiratorial whispers. This was not the accommodating, tolerant palace of Wessex, which allowed me to exist largely undisturbed despite my heathen ancestry. These were the battlefield warriors who had been ordered to take up arms and go to war by their King. To go to war and die at the hand of my people.

As far as they were concerned, I was a snake slithering amongst their ranks. As far as I knew, I might be.

I was reminded of the cautionary words I had presented to Ivar upon our first encounter with the King of Wessex all those many days ago.

 _"The snake that bites the ankle is the one that loses its head, but the one that bides its time to slither into the bed of the sleeping man will take life without consequence."_

 _"Is the snake not then a coward to bite a man while he sleeps?"_

 _"The snake is not a coward if he lives another day to bite many, many more men…Think of the possibilities, Ivar. We could go so far."_

Funny that the very snake I had warned Ivar to be was how these troops now perceived me.

I had reached the entrance of the tent, and the two nearest sentries crossed their pikes threateningly. "State your business," the one on the right ordered gruffly.

"I am here to see the Prince."

"Which one?"

Yes, there were three of them, weren't there? Well.

Clearing my throat firmly and looking back up to make full eye contact, I announced my intentions. I hoped he heard me. "His Royal Highness, Prince Alfred."

As I gazed into the narrowed, watchful eyes of the guards, I felt a distinct sense of elation at the prospect of their deaths. I would love to be the poison that spread amongst their ranks and brought them to their knees. Dear me, it was true. I was a snake.

A strong, pale hand pulled the tent flap to the side. Alfred's questioning gaze peered through the gap. When he saw it was me, he stepped out quickly while ensuring the flap was closed fully behind him.

I might've been a snake to the English, but I couldn't bring myself to want to hurt him.

He was too good. Too pure. Where the rest of his people were mongrels, he was an enlightened man.

If he ever became the king I knew he could be, he would grow his kingdom for the better. His court would be a place of learning where study reigned and the English language—the common people's language—would rule.

But what did I care of a king who might very well never rule?

' _A great deal, in fact.'_

I smiled warmly under the Prince's guarded stare.

"Hello, Your Royal Highness," I greeted him in the manner he had instructed during our fight a few days prior.

He didn't bother to reciprocate and instead began walking to the closest line of trees. It must've been his way of conducting business. He might not trust me, but it was no more that he trusted those around him.

He stopped once we were fully encircled by the greenery. His back was stiff and he kept his arms firmly by his sides.

"What is it?"

He was closed off. Completely guarded.

I saw no fire in him that had inspired me so often in the past. He gave me nothing. I had to make it right, whatever he thought I had done.

"What have I done?"

Silence. I could only stand it for a few brief moments.

"You would cast me aside when the heathens might set upon us at any moment? You are prepared for me to be killed without so much as a word?" I questioned helplessly.

"Yes," he stated as a matter of fact. The air was stolen from my lungs.

"What?" I breathed.

"If it meant that you would put my family and my kingdom in danger, then yes," he explained further. I sensed no remorse at his words. He genuinely espoused their very essence.

"Your Highness, what have I done that has so twisted you toward me?" I begged.

A pause as he looked me up and down. "You know exactly what you've done."

"Oh, what? Come with the English army to fight?" I asked egregiously.

"And who are you going to fight, exactly?" his eyes sprang to life, and he leaned forward to tower over me, "Who are you going to aid in the end?"

How could he have drawn that conclusion so easily? He was too quick, far too quick. No man could have deciphered such a real and present danger from such a benign act like he had.

No ordinary man, anyway.

"Alfred—"

"Prince."

" _Prince_ Alfred," I started again, "How could you possibly think that of me?"

He was incredibly perceptive, but I couldn't abandon my plan now. Mostly because I didn't really have one. Not yet, at least. I needed to know what the North Men would do before I committed to a single course of action. Until then, it was integral that I ensure my survival and that all doorways remain open to me.

"How could you neglect to tell me you were accompanying the bloody campaign?" he demanded, "You lied to me. You let me make a fool of myself, and you _lied_ to me. Why?"

"Why do you think, Prince?" I fired back. Not only was he suspicious, but his pride had been wounded, "Do you believe a woman could ever serve on the fields of fighting?"

"If she has a place on them, indeed," he conceded. I was taken aback by his unexpected logic, "In your case, however, you most certainly do not."

"How dare you," I seethed, "How much have I already contributed to this campaign and its forces?"

"Too much," he retorted in a low growl.

There it was. His doubt lay bare. I had to give him something or I would lose him. I felt it.

"Everything you have done while here has been a charade," he expounded. His eyes were near slits with his hatred for what I'd done. I could choke on it.

All at once, he composed himself before pressing on, "You only showed me who you were because I forced you to."

How could I win his trust back? Every time I opened my mouth, I gave him another reason to distrust me. I couldn't lose him. I had lost so much already. And while my loyalty was yet to be won, I wanted him with me.

I _needed_ him.

Ivar was greatness embodied, and so was Alfred. I thought I had lost one already—I would not lose another.

I breathed out slowly in an attempt to regain control over my nerves.

"I was born in shame," I started. The turn in conversation obviously caught him off guard, but he allowed me to go on, "My mother had strayed while my father was raiding, and from a young age, I was an outcast. I was associated with death and unhappiness because of it," I paused to gauge his interest.

He remained skeptical, but I could see his attention was held rapt.

"Where I come from, a person's name defines their life. Their legacy. Words have meaning, and names have the most meaning because they are continuously spoken over that person.

"My name isn't Helena. It's Hel," I revealed. His eyes widened slightly, and his hard brows lifted momentarily.

"You are the inferno embodied," he whispered. He retreated from me as if he had been touched by the very flames of the Hell he feared. As much as I respected him, he was still a Christian.

"No, far from it," I countered, "It is the namesake of the guardian of Helheim, the keeper of the dead. She is the Daughter of the Silver-Tongued God, Loki. She is not to be trusted, less loved."

' _We are alike in that way,'_ I could practically hear him thinking. I had thought the same on many occasions when we passed the many hours together. I remained undeterred. He had to know.

"The only saving grace for me as a child was the pity of the Queen. For a time, I felt almost normal, like I was one of the royal family. Like I could be someone important to them. To all of my people.

"We came to England, and I was with them, you remember?" I reminded. He nodded slowly in response, "Well, I thought that was the Gods' plan for me. To conquer worlds. I thought I had finally found it."

I was by no means sharing the fullness of my story; I did not think he would believe me even if I told him. I was giving him all that was needed to keep him here.

With me.

"But I was wrong. They did not see me as an equal," Ivar's hard eyes flashed behind my own as I spoke the words aloud. My voice softened, "They did not see me as being able to meet the task at hand."

"So you are here as a form of revenge?" Alfred's question sounded wary.

He had taken a real interest. We were making progress.

"Partly," I confessed. There was no use in lying on this point, "But also because I know I am capable of greatness. I want to be a victor in this life that I might earn my place in Valhalla and see empires forged under my hand."

Alfred looked steadily at me, analyzing my candor.

"But why? Why do you feel the need to strive for such greatness?" he questioned.

"Why do I not desire to grow into an old, comely woman with thirty children underfoot, you mean," I commented wryly. Alfred looked partially embarrassed, "Because, Prince, I have found in my life that desire reveals the design. It is written in my stars.

"Does the eagle not have a desire to soar? And the fish a desire to swim? The lion a desire to hunt? It is ingrained in them because they were created just to do those things.

"I have to believe my desire for greatness means that I am meant to carry it out and achieve it. To live it. It is only natural. We Vikings are no strangers to triumph."

"Would you ever betray us?" he struck true. He watched me closely for any signs of evasion. He might have been lured in but he was not fully convinced.

I looked into his eyes and hoped he would grant me access to his soul.

"Would I ever betray you?" I altered the question slightly so I could tell a single truth, "Never."

Alfred's eyebrows drew together quickly before unfurrowing again. Perhaps he had sensed the subversive sentiment that sat so heavily on my heart. He was what mattered to me. Not the sweating pigs scattered around us.

Not one for speaking when there was nothing to be said, Alfred permitted the silence to stretch on. I watched him while raising my eyebrows expectantly. If he didn't say something soon, I would die of expectation. And he looked completely prepared to allow me to do so.

"We make way for Repton on the morn," he stated plainly while turning to leave our haven.

I had failed, miserably so. He had heard my story and brushed it aside. I really had lost him forever.

He stopped suddenly and craned his neck to speak back to me, "I expect you should ride alongside me this time." A smirk stole its way onto his mouth.

"Oh, Alfred!" I shouted. I couldn't even be mad at his harmless trickery. I ran straight at him, and he turned just in time to catch me.

We embraced for a short while. I buried my face into his chest and allowed his long arms to encase me. I never wanted to run afoul of him again. He was far too good for that.

Feeling pleased with myself, I inclined my head upward to get a good look at his face. I wanted to see what it looked like when he wasn't completely against me.

His green eyes searched my face from beneath heavy lids. His mouth was slightly parted in deep thought. A few stray tendrils of his long, brown hair caught a passing breeze.

I had barely glanced into his eyes for a couple of moments when it started again. That feeling. The interjection of the divine. A golden aura began to wind its way around the edges of my field of sight. The passing breeze turned into a stronger, persistent gale that stirred up all the loose foliage on the ground. A tingling sensation worked its way through my limbs that increased tenfold where he and I made contact.

Alfred glanced all around us, equally captivated, "He is here."

"Who?" I was curious to hear what he thought was the source of our magic.

"God," he whispered.

The strength of his grip grew unintentionally around me. I didn't mind. I really believed the intention of these holy blessings was to bring us closer. And it was certainly working.

"Alfred," I called lowly. His gaze snapped back to mine.

I extended my hand up slowly to touch a single finger to his lips.

Rather than let his mind get the better of him, Alfred appeared to surrender to the sensations passing around us. He would always submit where the divine was involved.

I felt ignited at the contact.

His mouth pressed against my finger almost tentatively in response. But it wasn't enough for me. My body was _alive_ beneath him. I needed more.

I dragged the pad of my finger down his pouting lower lip pulling it away to reveal the teeth behind. Alfred's eyes widened at the brazen act.

"Bite it," I coaxed.

His momentary dumbfoundedness was quickly replaced with a greedy hunger, and he latched on unforgivingly. Where there was a question in him, I could now only see an all-consuming desperation.

He had wanted this all along. I relished the thought.

"Did you think of me while we were apart?" I was bathing in his need, riding high on the power it gave me. He practically moaned in response.

In the flash of an instant, his mouth moved from my finger to play at my neck. My head rolled back at the unexpectedness of it.

His tongue would dart out to lick where he had left a nip on the soft skin near my jawline. I could feel my breathing getting faster from the new sensations that I had never expected to come from this Christian boy.

"Alfred," I breathed.

His head moved back up to capture my gaze with his own. His lips were slightly swollen and his breathing was almost as heavy as my own. The tension clung desperately to us, and the blood hummed in our veins.

The Prince bent his head over mine until our lips were a hair's width apart. The wind swept up even faster and I wondered if the soldiers just past the trees could feel it as well. How any tents managed to stand in such gusts was beyond me.

Alfred and I looked into each other's eyes until he moved his stare down to my mouth.

A pause.

"Hel."

I crashed my lips against his.

He had used my given name, the only Englishman in all of Christendom to know it besides his father. I grasped at the sides of his face while he drew me inward with his long limbs. It was as if my body had taken on a mind of its own, sacrificing itself willfully into the torrent of lust inundating us both.

He seemed bent on keeping us standing upright, but the ground was so much more alluring. I drew us both downward into a bed of white clover but paused momentarily to hold myself aloft just above him.

Alfred's hair was spread out around his head in a savior's crown, and he gazed up at me from under hooded lids. I watched him steadily as he moved his hands slowly up my arms to crest at my shoulders, his eyes opening fully to observe me in turn. He was agonizingly languid in his movements to silently assert that he was somehow still the dominant one.

I could easily change that.

I lowered my face until it was barely touching his—so close that his light breaths studded my nose and mouth. His eyes belied the fire I had longed to see raging within. It was back and in full force. I thought it might burn the whole English countryside to a charred and withered mottle.

Holding on to every last escaping moment of suspense, I flicked my tongue out to lick his slightly open mouth and whispered, "Child's play."

He had me rolled over onto my back faster than I could see him move. He recaptured my mouth and used both hands to secure my wrists firmly on the ground. I squealed and smiled into his lips at the unexpected response. I quite enjoyed this dominant streak that was forcing its way to the surface; I should like to see the Prince try it on more often.

Not wanting to halt the natural progression of events, I shifted my hips up to make contact with his and almost died when I heard the strangled groan that escaped his throat. Alfred stopped kissing me for a moment to place his forehead against my own.

"Hel," he warned.

"Yes, Alfred?" I responded sweetly while lifting my hips to meet his again. It wasn't just for his benefit; I got the most wonderful sense of urgent and absolute heat that spread through my body at the effort.

His groan came louder this time, though he did his utmost to stifle it.

"Hel, stop. We cannot," he commanded firmly.

I froze in place and waited for an explanation. The lion and the heathen, poised for the killing.

"We cannot _what_ , exactly, Prince?" I gritted out, eyes blazing. I didn't want him to stop. I didn't want anything to come between him placing his undying trust in me. And now I felt he was doing exactly that.

Alfred leaned back until he was squatting on his haunches and appraised me calculatingly. He spent some time in thought and only addressed me once he had come to a logical conclusion. "I will not lie with you."

"Why not?" I hated that I sounded so childish.

"It would not be right." His answers were simple, uncomplicated things. I hated them too.

"We are in the middle of a war, Alfred, and you think the right thing to do is deny yourself?"

"It is what my faith demands," he countered.

"How can it be what your faith demands when you felt yourself that your Holy Ghost has blessed us?" It took everything to keep the mocking from my voice. Hot blood boiled in my veins. It was like running across the most beautiful meadow with the sun shining down brightly and the wind at your back spurring you on, and then running straight into a wall. It was infuriating.

Alfred squared his shoulders in a show of strength and stepped forward to infiltrate the space he had created between us. His brow was pulled down tightly and his eyes searched mine ruthlessly as he tried to control his own growing anger, "And I will pray that He will continue to bestow His blessings long after the dust of combat has settled."

I understood what he was saying. It even appealed to my own god-fearing sensibilities. If I had been raised to believe that Odin strove with every fiber of his heavenly being to remain chaste until the day he exchanged vows with Freya, then I might have done the same myself.

But, as it stood, the inhabitants of Asgard were far from pure, and us North Men were not renowned for our chastity. Purity was not some currency that could buy a life of good will and divine blessing like these Christians so ardently believed. We were only here for a short, bleak time, and lovemaking was certain to be one of the few things to lighten existence.

To this young Prince, the illicit act of love was a sacred thing shared between married persons, and only then was it undefiled in the eyes of the Creator. I could not hate him for standing firm in his beliefs. In fact, it was something I quite admired in him.

Alfred was like a Viking in that way—strong, steadfast, and uncompromising until the end.

I released a forlorn sigh, reached my arms up around his neck, and placed a soft kiss upon his cheek. His arms went up to wrap around my waist almost reflexively.

I would not try to change him this day. I really had no desire to change him at all.

A dying wail of a horn sounded from the middle of the fields a short distance away. Instantly, a harsh discord rose up amongst the troops. They began running this way and that, their armor and weaponry clanging loudly. Shouts chorused from what seemed to be every direction.

We were under attack.

* * *

 **A/N: To those who reviewed (min kone and guests), thank you so much!**

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	21. The Welsh

A distinctly wet, repetitive sensation roused Ivar from the most pleasant rest he'd gotten in a while. Swatting it away blindly, he rolled over on his cot to continue sleeping. Maybe he could still get back to that particularly amazing dream where he'd split Hel's skin apart and removed her—

There it was again. The same annoying slobber. Had he drooled that much in his sleep?

Ivar whirled around to sit up in bed, eyes adjusting to bright light spilling through the crack at the opening of his tent. His hands were on one of his axes in an instant and at the throat of whatever had been touching him.

There, sitting quite regally despite having an axe at his throat was the black dog Hel had returned with after her journey to Hedeby.

"The fylgur?"

The dog licked his hand politely in response.

Ivar had only learned about the dog in passing—Garm or something to that effect was its name. Hel had not personally told him of her new companion as its appearance coincided with the beginning of their undoing.

Ivar lowered his axe slowly, "How did you get here?"

The animal's fur looked clean and free of debris. He had been well cared for wherever he had come from. Ivar had an inkling of an idea of just who had cared for the creature: his own men.

Ivar caught himself waiting for a response from the fylgur, so animated were its expressions.

"Well, I'm sure you came here for something," he reasoned aloud. Fylgur throughout history had been chronicled as only performing grand acts when it served their masters. What could this animal possibly be doing for Hel now?

The dog sniffed in seeming agreement.

"Then what is it?" Ivar's patience was wearing thin after being woken up so strangely.

The creature latched onto the fabric of Ivar's tunic and pulled vehemently. The Garm wanted him to follow.

Ivar's immediate reaction was to strike the animal, but he refrained from doing so at the thought of Hel. He didn't care about how the dog's death would affect her, not at all. He simply wanted to see where this would lead.

The hound roused him from bed, but not before Ivar had to reach for the iron supports he "walked" with. It moved to the table in the center of the tent where Ivar and the leaders of the North Men planned out their advances over a map of England. Jumping to place its two front paws on the table, the hound stopped and looked back at him, mouth open and panting. Expecting.

"What of it?" Ivar referred to his battleplan.

In a flash, the Garm raised its ears and snarled viciously. Ivar's hand was on the axe on the table instinctively.

But the animal wanted nothing to do with him. It leaped down and moved stealthily to the opening of the tent, intent upon something that Ivar couldn't quite see. He watched a scuffle between the dog and some other unseen creature that mustn't have been bigger than a mouse.

When it was over, Ivar watched with furrowed brows as the Garm gingerly picked up his kill and moved back to the table. Once the dog had climbed to his former position, he dropped his prize in the dead center.

There, still twitching and writhing in spite of death, was a small red snake.

The dog waited.

"A red snake," Ivar mused aloud. Ivar looked between the dog and the snake several times. He knew what he was supposed to see—he just wondered that it would be so easy. The symbol had been one of the many he studied before coming to this foreign land. He drew in a long breath and let it out unceremoniously, "Wales."

Stepping around the scene to take in the full picture, he watched the snake coil and uncoil spastically, taking several planning pieces with it.

Ivar couldn't help but laugh. He reached out a hand to pat the fylgur's head.

"Good dog."

It was only a few short hurdles before Ivar was out of his own tent and standing in the entrance of Sigurd's. Glancing disappointedly at his slumbering brother, he plucked up a discarded goblet from a stand at his right chucked it with vigor.

"What the shit?!" Sigurd shouted when the goblet made contact with his head. He sat up and forcefully rubbed the injury, but when he saw it was Ivar who had done the injuring, he quickly masked his pain and gritted out, "What brings you here so early, brother?"

Ivar waited a moment to bask in his small victory.

"Ready our people," he commanded, "We move before midday."

* * *

It had all been terribly easy.

Once the portion of warriors who had wished to return from England made it back to Kattegat, King Björn had immediately taken the more adventurous ones in pursuit of the Mediterranean. He had not really wanted to come home at all. He had gone to England to exact revenge for his father on those who deserved it, and once that was done, he wanted nothing more to do with it.

England was a land of quivering monks and poor kings. There was nothing left for him there except poor weather and even worse pickings.

The Mediterranean and the Great White Desert that awaited just past it—that was what Björn Ironside desired. He was a voracious vagabond indeed. Signe had not chosen him from the start because of it. How could she accomplish her aims with a husband so far away?

She had first moved in on Hvitserk with extreme ease. The boy was desperate for attention and the approval of his brothers. But his favor had been all Signe was seeking.

She needed someone with more power. More influence. Someone who could give her the means to affect her situation and not be ruled by it.

That left only one Ragnarson.

Her wedding with Ubbe was rather simple, but it was the deed Signe cared about, not the grandeur of the spectacle.

They were married on the day of Freyja as was custom. Signe had been sequestered for a week beforehand and placed under the care of the Queen Mother. She had no living family, and Aslaug had offered to prepare the young maiden out of the goodness of her heart. It sickened Signe.

All week long had been spent watching the aging woman—her signature wine cup in hand—and enduring the tedious preparation that (unfortunately) had to be followed.

A sow and a boar were sacrificed in honor of the Gods, the swords and finger rings were exchanged, and a feast was held in the great hall. Hvitserk sulked through the whole thing, she was glad to see.

A seed planted for a later harvest.

In the weeks that followed, Ubbe was ever the caring husband as she had expected. Hvitserk was a lovesick puppy begging for scraps. She catered to them both.

Signe's dissatisfaction only became apparent when she realized that Ubbe had no real ambitions in life except to remain in Kattegat. He wanted to be a farmer of all things. His father would have spit on him.

He disgusted her, but of course, he didn't know that.

She had to make him aware of the possibilities. That simplicity was earned only after greatness had been achieved. Otherwise, life was pointless.

Signe spilled sweet nothings into Ubbe's ear constantly, and though he had been disgruntled at first, her attentions had caused the idea to grow on him.

Once she had won him over completely, she could move forward with the next part of her grand scheme. She had promised Ivar the Boneless that he would regret rejecting her proposal of marriage. She couldn't wait to watch him _burn._

It was a sunny day, or rather, night. Sól barely set during the high summer, so intent was she on giving warmth and light to the North. Signe used the longer days to go about her business when most others were sleeping.

She might've married one of the sons of the great Ragnar Lothbrok, but she was still considered an outsider by many. Her time was filled up with that of cajoling her husband, consoling his brother, and enacting her vengeance.

This night, Signe found herself down by a swiftly running stream where the water was still cool to the touch in spite of the summer heat. Here was where a small white flower grew. It had one long stem that split into a crown of tiny bundles. They were just beginning to bloom and hadn't yet stretched out to their full expanse. In a few days, these flowers would be up and down the banks of the stream resembling a fresh sprinkling of snow.

This plant resembled a great deal of other flowers that grew near streams, and even a few edible ones too. Signe had learned of it by paying the Seer of her homeland a great sum of money, and it was finally time to put her knowledge to use.

She had been warned of its toxicity when eaten as well as when touched, and so she took every precaution. Wrapping a stalk in a piece of dried hide, she pulled it up from the ground and folded it in on itself.

She would prepare as best she remembered how when she got back to the village, and then she had only one thing left to do: wait.

* * *

I found myself lost.

In a world where my only exposure to fighting had been that of the Vikings' raiding, all-out war was something entirely new and unknown. Sure, I had witnessed skirmishes amongst my people, but this was unprecedented.

I had lost Alfred within the first few moments. With a swift parting kiss—something that seemed more dutiful than doting at the time, Alfred had instructed me to run further into the wood line and hold fast.

I had chosen to do the opposite.

I was now skirting the battlefield just out of sight. Dodging from tree to tree, I kept my eyes fixed on the fray a ways off. I don't know what possessed me to move so close to the fighting, especially without my bow and arrows, but I just had to see it.

' _Have to see him, more like.'_

"Shut it," I warned myself.

But there seemed to be something more that was pulling me forward. It wasn't just my need to catch a glimpse of the man who had just last night killed me. It might've been metaphysically, but the sentiment was very much conveyed. If anything, I wanted to flee. But I couldn't.

Perhaps it was the odd formation the men on both sides of the melee made. Perhaps it was that their tactics were so similar. So distinctly _civilized_.

' _No, please Gods no.'_

I carried on my trek through the trees until I reached the middle of the battle. To my right a small distance away I spied the centerline of where the two forces met.

I stood frozen at the scene before me.

It was no heathen horde that engaged the army of Wessex in battle. It was the Welsh.

They had betrayed us.

The Wessex army was losing badly. Its troops had been caught unawares and had barely mustered in time to successfully execute a defense, let alone a counterattack.

I could not breathe for the ire clogging my throat. The world around me danced in a mad whirl and I lost all reason.

I pulled violently at my hair and screamed until my voice ran hoarse. The sounds were drowned out in the discord before me.

Soldiers fell in droves.

This was not supposed to happen.

This was not what I had planned.

These were not the workings of the divine.

I watched the young Prince Æthelred raise his sword to strike a death blow but have a pike run through him from behind. His father, Prince Æthelwulf let out a great cry and slashed his way to the dying boy. Alfred looked bewildered for a moment, but returned to fighting before his life was taken next. There was no saving his brother.

This was _sacrilege._

Here, in the countryside of Repton, all of my faithful planning had been destroyed.

They had lost too many, Æthelwulf was calling a retreat.

"No!" I cried.

A small nuzzle at my leg snapped me out of my haze, and I screamed. Everything in me was poised to kill.

But there at my heels was the companion I had left in Kattegat.

Garmsen.

I collapsed to both knees and reached out to draw him close, pressing his head to my chest.

"Garmsen, oh Gods, what are you doing here?" I whimpered. It was all too much.

The fylgur allowed me to hold him close for just a moment before extricating himself from my clutch. He looked at me fully, his soft black eyes demanding my attention. Then, he swept up his head to peer into the distance. I followed it distractedly.

There.

On a far hill, some great length away.

I saw him, Ivar. He was _standing_. This was no dream, and yet he could walk. He stood on his own two legs and watched the chaos that I—a little girl—had orchestrated for him.

He was alone, but I knew his men were with him. They were probably hidden in the very trees I used as refuge now. I had to run, but the energy left me as swiftly as my anger and brought it forth.

"Oh, Garmsen," I breathed, a sinking feeling my stomach, "What have you done?"

* * *

 **A/N: Hi there! We're going to play choose your own music adventure:**

 **If you're feeling frisky, listen to Jeanette - Porque Te Vas.**

 **If you're feeling like things couldn't get any more dire, listen to Sleep Party People - I'm Not Human At All.**

 **If you don't give a flying fart in space about any of this and just want to hear a new song, listen to Rex Orange County - Sunflower.**

 **Thank you so much to all those who reviewed (Shantigal, nevershout, Maryia, min kone and others)! And Maryia, I totally understand about the lions. My instinct was to include the reference because the Bible mentioned lions throughout especially in metaphor, and that Hel (under her tutor) would've read it extensively. I know that lions were also featured on various Anglo banners and crests. Thank you for keeping my writing true! You've inspired me to research the history of the use of lions in heraldry, and it's absolutely fascinating :) Thank you!**

 **I hope you're all having a grand ole time here.** **You ain't seen nothing yet, I promise** **:) As usual, reviews and constructive ideas/criticism are always encouraged!**


	22. Death of a Monarch

His sojourn into the unknown—along with those brave few who were willing to accompany him—had proven fruitful in some ways, yet fruitless in others.

He had seen a great many landscapes all belonging to the far-off places that had only existed in his wildest dreams. His childhood had been wrought with bleak, snowy, white winters and easy, green summers. The places Björn had visited were anything but.

He had sailed to an island in repose, its beaches rocky and clear with greenery tumbling down the cliffsides, begging for his attention. Strange plants the likes of which he had never seen grew along the crags, their leaves (at least he thought they were leaves) pointed and flaccid.

The company had been stranger than the scenery. The commander there, Euphemius, was full of well wishes and lilting words. He was a coward that one, and Björn knew it at first glance. It had been no surprise to him when the cackling imbecile had lunged at him with a sword after hearing that they were traders. Euphemius trusted no one; especially not strong, tattooed men from other worlds.

It was the same coward who brought him on the furthest leg of their journey into deserts that spanned as far as the eye could see.

Sól's rays bore down with a vengeance as she sprinted through the sky. Björn had to shield his eyes from her for great lengths of time until they could adjust. Never had he seen her so enthusiastic in her time telling duties. And yet, he had not felt the heat. It was swept away in the swirling spells of wind that danced around his feet.

He had had to remove his outer garments once they reached this hot, wispy place as only the thinnest of coverings granted him reprieve in the scorching heat. After weeks of sailing in his furs, Björn felt almost naked. Uncovered. Lethal.

He and Halfdan had been giving odd head coverings to wear, which he believed made him look like a giant mushroom of a man. But only after realizing how quickly his skin turned a painful pink in this vast wasteland did he acquiesce to wearing it.

Crossing the desert on the backs of those strange creatures—camels, he had come to learn that they were named—was a welcome adventure. After all, they still used the stars to navigate their journey; the camels were like tinier, slower, clunking vessels bringing them to the next shoreline.

His own camel had been a rude thing. It spit on him no less than three times before he was able to clamber onto its back. He was convinced it would bite his ear off for all of the hissing noises it made at him. Björn liked to think by the end of their trek together that the beast and he had found common ground, and dare he say it, come to tolerate one another. But that didn't stop him from flinching in surprise every time that damned thing opened its mouth to release a cry that the Goddess of Helheim would've been proud of.

Everything had been going as intended. Björn had been forging tenuous relationships with the leaders of this land, winning small bits of trust that could be harvested in the future when he came back with a formidable party of raiders. The very jewels that adorned their necks and the rich fabrics that decorated their darker bodies would soon be in piles aboard his ships.

Everything was going fine, that is, until he was quite literally fed the Commander Euphemius and then sentenced to death by beheading. It was all a very dizzying turn of events. The only reason his life had been spared was because of the rogue wall of sand that bore down on the camp unexpectedly.

The desert was a very harsh and unforgiving place, and he thanked the Gods for it.

Once he, Halfdan, and Sinric had made it safely past the storm and ridden until their even their camels seemed tired and in need of water, Halfdan offered the obvious question.

"What will we do now?"

"It is too soon to tell," Björn mused aloud. In all reality, he couldn't make a sound decision until he had taken stock of what had transpired in Kattegat and in England. All of the men with them had either been slaughtered by the Emir's men or escaped only to die in the terrible sun of the hot sands. He was not willing to risk that more might suffer the same fate unless he had enough warriors to avoid a fair fight altogether.

Only time would tell.

"Let us go see what our dear brother has done in our absence."

* * *

The retreat was as most things were when the English were involved: sloppy.

Try as I might, I could not keep the bitterness from seeping into every fiber of my body, mind, and spirit. My face was set in a grimace I feared would become permanent. Contempt was rolling off of me. Gods help the poor, dazed soldiers that might have the displeasure of crossing my path during our hasty retrograde.

We had been forced to sacrifice about a thousand men on top of our original losses in order to successfully escape the serpentine snare of Wales. All in all, Wessex's numbers had plummeted to under half of her army's starting strength, and I couldn't do much to keep the crushing despair of defeat out of my throat. Between piecing together slipshod plans and wondering how I could have been caught so devastatingly unaware, I realized just how badly I gotten myself into a pile of steaming horseshit.

My suspicions of Garmsen remained unconfirmed. I had felt within him the ethereal pull of unwavering purpose—the intervention of divine tasking. I knew my familiar had something to do with the Welsh army's treachery (if not having precipitated the happening in its entirety), but I didn't have the faintest idea how. But where my Midgardian nature wanted to hate him and cast him aside, our spiritual bond would not allow it. He was a wayward child, and I loved him just the same. I had faith—no matter how much it burned my insides to admit it—that his actions had been in line with the will of the Gods.

When my mind had stopped working and caused my body to fail along with it, Garmsen had entreated and prodded me until the prospect of carrying on wasn't so repugnant anymore. Stumbling back through the woods was only possible with Garmsen's leading tread. I would have walked in circles without him until I was either killed or died of exhaustion.

At one point, a stray root snagged my foot and tripped me so that I went sprawling on all fours. My chin burst open from the impact and blood poured freely down. By the time I made it to the camp, my hair was wild and my breathing was hoarse.

The place looked like it had been deserted some time ago. Fire pits were still smoking, tents lay half-collapsed, and the mud was freshly packed. The soldiers of Wessex had obviously been through here in their hasty retreat. Judging by their general direction of march, they had veered off of the route taken to get here. Instead they had turned toward the southwest. Where exactly they were headed, I couldn't be sure, but I would find out if I had any hope of staying alive and regaining what was lost.

Now that the shock had really worn off, I dared not delay even a few moments lest I should be discovered all alone. Evading capture was one thing; fending off fully grown men was an entirely different thing.

I faced my body in the direction of march and readied to make way, Garmsen at my side.

"Wait, wait, wait, love. Where are you off to?"

* * *

Floki watched the pathetic display taking place in the great hall with an air of removed disdain. His kohl-rimmed eyes swept back and forth in equal measure between the three individuals who had become the greatest captivation of Kattegat.

Ubbe sat atop the throne, legs spread in confident recline. The Queen Mother had taken to restless wandering of late and was not present for the night's festivities. Traces of her subdued melancholy could be felt around the room.

Sat primly upon the play king's lap was his gleaming new bride, all batting eyelashes and simpering touches. A crown—though fake—sat atop her head. It was a wreath of honeysuckle flowers on spindly vines. The soft yellow hues of the white flower played brilliantly off of her golden hair in the bright candlelight. No doubt it was worn in an effort to paint a likeness to Freyja as well as display her own fertility. She was every part the blushing bride, and yet, Floki found himself ill at ease with her still

Ubbe refused to look at anyone but her even when she turned to engage other warriors of the village in conversation. His eyes were forever upcast; forever fixed on her.

His brother across the great hall sat no different. He was a bit more downtrodden, though, from having lost the prize of the foreigner as his bride.

This was not the proper behavior for any sons of Ragnar. They were _saps._

No, he did not like that girl. He did not like her one bit.

Floki wheezed a bitter laugh and spit disgustedly at the ground.

One side of the doors to the hall sprung open and clanged against the back wall with a resounding _bang_. The Queen Mother staggered in blindly, grasping at anyone who could hold her up.

She must have taken too strongly to the drink again tonight. Fits like these were something to be marveled at as they only happened every once in a long while. But happen they did.

They all missed Ragnar, but everyone coped in his or her own way. And who's to say Aslaug wasn't celebrating his death as much as she was mourning it?

"Please!" the regal woman gasped with fading breath. Her eyes were wide in terror.

Floki saw it now. She was not drunk.

Aslaug fell down to her knees, her breathing becoming ever more shallow. A thin layer of foam appeared at her lips when she tried to call for help again, "Pl—"

She was _dying_.

Poison. It had to be.

This was no natural death. The twitching of her limbs, the saliva pooling out of her mouth, and the decaying breaths were all signs of it.

Floki had been slow to show Aslaug favor when she came to Kattegat. She had, after all, been the reason Lagertha was forced to leave Ragnar. Leave Kattegat. Leave everything and everyone she had ever known.

Still, it was not right for her end to come so early and so violent.

He did not immediately move to help. If he had guessed correctly which plant was used to orchestrate her demise—and Floki always did—then her breathing would cease altogether in a few short moments.

The only thing that might have been able to save her was to eat some coal, and even that wasn't a sure way to keep her alive. It would only prolong her suffering. Floki might not have liked her, but trying to cure her was the cruelest thing he could do.

No, this was Aslaug's time to die.

Floki blessed himself and the dying woman with a wave of his first two fingers. The Gods bore witness to this injustice, same as he and every mortal in this hall. He could feel their magic wrapping around him like a warm cloak on a long winter's night. The air carried a soft hum that reverberated in his teeth. He heard the wind begin to moan out of doors.

Their presence meant many things to Floki, as it always did. But this night it only signified one thing: revenge would be had.

Whoever had done this to the Queen Mother would eat the fruit of their deeds. Floki laughed in excitement as quietly as possible to himself.

He looked around the room, taking in the obtuse looks of the others gathered there. They did not feel the Gods the way Floki did and Aslaug had. They had no idea what was in store for whoever was guilty of this heinous crime.

He took in each of their faces one by one and saw varying degrees of shock, fear, and disgust.

Except for her.

The foreigner.

Shock was written all over her face, true. But Floki saw something more there.

A small crinkle at her eyes.

Mirth.

* * *

 **A/N: Maryia and Shantigal-thank you so very much for reviewing again! :)**

 **Songs of the chapter are inspired by the new Netflix movie 'To All the Boys I've Loved Before.' If you haven't seen it yet, I fully recommend it. Whimsical and smart from start to finish.**

 **1\. The Velveteins - Daydreams**

 **2\. Blood Orange - You're Not Good Enough**

 ***3. Boswell Sisters - Mood Indigo**

 **Please review! Catch ya later.**


	23. Serpent Underfoot

The night had begun as any other in the bustling little village that had become her sanctuary. Kattegat hummed with the activity of traders putting up their wares after a hard day's selling. Farmers returned to their modest homes after having tended to their menagerie of livestock—cattle, pigs, goats, sheep, ducks, and geese. The yearly harvest was practically over, and in their newfound abundance of free time, some farmers' wives had taken to roaming the forests in search of beehives from which to collect honey for mead.

Aslaug's eyes drew downward to her own cup of mead in hand, perfectly cooled and almost overflowing. It was just how she preferred it.

Her drinking had worsened in recent days, and the wife of the dead King had done nothing to combat it. The visions with which she usually guided her life were diminishing as time went on, and she knew this signified her own end of existence. It was upon her, suffocating her. The drink was the only thing that allowed her to relax and subdue her panic with the clear-minded cynicism of the near-departed.

Valhalla and Fólkvangr were not her intended destinations—no, these were the places where the brave souls who died in battle convened after death. Half to Odin and half to Freyja. They would drink and make merry amongst themselves for an eternity until they were expected to fight again when the world eventually ended in Ragnarok. A heavenly rest and an ethereal battle awaited those warriors. And though Freyja had been known to accept the souls of women who had died a noble death in Fólkvangr, Aslaug couldn't imagine herself bumping elbows with rowdy Vikings for the rest of time.

It was not a place for Aslaug, a woman who had found fighting a tedious waste of energy and resources in her time on Midgard. Her husband might have been one of the fiercest and most ambitious warriors in the known world, but that did not change her fundamental truths.

She would not go to Helheim either; no home of the dishonored dead would be hers. She was a Queen in her own time, not one of the diseased, lame, or decrepit.

That left only one place: the holy mountain. Helgafjell.

It was like she wouldn't be leaving at all. Really disappearing and taking up residence in the mountains, suspended in the divine realm that mirrored Midgard. Aslaug was not able to see much when she gazed into the Helgafjell, but when she looked away she noted that she felt happier, lighter, and calmer. She hoped that the Gods would allow her spirit to venture there after she left this world. She had seen so much warring and death for one lifetime that a tranquil rest in the afterlife was all she desired. Hel, it was all she deserved.

She moved the cup to her mouth for another draught but was met with an empty vessel. Had she really drank all of that honeyed mead? It had practically cost her a fortunate to procure such a fine quality beverage and here she was racing through it.

' _What matter of that is mine?'_ she bristled. Death would be upon her soon enough, and trifles like money and drink would be far from her mind then.

The world seemed frozen in time. Sól had dipped below the horizon a while ago without having fully relinquished her charge of the heavens to Máni. The sky was set ablaze in various pinks, oranges, and purples. A steady wind caressed Aslaug's entire body, bringing her cool relief from the summer's heat. It was all perfect.

Too perfect.

The Gods were here.

They were bidding her farewell until she met them again.

' _So it is now,'_ she mused.

Oddly enough, she had no fear. Her death had been a long time coming, and its advent was more comfort than upheaval.

A tremor started in her hands and wound its way up her arms until it possessed all of her body in one devastating swoop. Aslaug collapsed as the shaking stole her limbs and prevented her from forming coherent thoughts. Her breathing ceased for a few moments until the sensations left her as suddenly as they had come.

The fear was still not there. It all seemed quite natural.

Aslaug moved to lean on one knee and placed a calming hand on her chest as she looked to her fallen cup. A few stray drops leaked out from its overturned rim.

She reached out a shaking hand to take a hold of it and bring it up to her discerning eye. Small bits of a white flower—barely discernible and almost transparent in the liquid—lie in wait at the bottom of the chalice. Aslaug smiled bitterly.

' _Poison then.'_

She certainly would not have chosen it as her means of departing this mortal plane. Aslaug would have preferred something a bit more dignified like her heart giving out during a quiet and peaceful slumber. Goodness, even drowning would be better because it would have been a few moments of struggle and then black, holy nothingness.

But the divine beings in Asgard had chosen this as her fate, and she would revel in it. She licked the tip of her finger and dipped it heavily into the cup, dragging it against the bottom to retrieve what little bit was left of her demise. She sucked on the pad until all of the white fragments were gone and nothing but her own fingerprint gazed levelly back at her. Her stare moved its way from finger to hand to arm.

It was a shame she hadn't taken more time to admire her body in her brief time on Midgard. She had certainly used it to her advantage in snagging Ragnar Lothbrok from his dear Lagertha and it had given her four beautiful baby boys, but she had never really felt as if it was hers to inhabit.

Aslaug attributed that to her gift of seeing. When one was forever tied to the Gods above, it was quite difficult indeed to keep one's head and heart within the confines of a mortal vessel.

Looking at it now, she decided she loved it. It had carried her many places and allowed her to have such an eventful life. It showed signs of aging, but still it was beautiful.

Aslaug moved her hand up to her mouth and place a lingering, meaningful kiss on her open palm.

She would miss it.

Her hand began to tremble violently under her mouth, and she knew this was merely the start of an hours-long endeavor.

She intended to meet her end bravely.

Aslaug laughed as best her failing breaths would let her as she dissolved into convulsions once more.

* * *

Ivar sat alone on a grassy hilltop, legs laid out straight in front of him. He pondered the sky above him absentmindedly, a wry smirk upon his face. The day had been a raging success, and he was still reveling in it.

A ripple pierced the formlessness that filled the space between the stars.

The disturbance caught his eye before it took his soul along with it. Deep, deep down into an ever-expanding abyss. It was nameless, shapeless, and older than time itself. It was the harbinger of death.

"Ivar," a lilting voice called through the darkness. He turned swiftly to find its source.

"Mother?"

There she stood in all her regal glory, draped in furs and eyes fixed on her son.

Ivar could not speak for his puzzlement was so great. He was paralyzed. Instead he watched silently as she padded her way delicately to him.

"I love you, Ivar," she whispered. His brows furrowed at that. What sort of message was this?

Aslaug reached out a pale hand and stroked her son's cheek lovingly.

Ivar jumped at the touch—it was too cold, too unhealthy.

"You will be greater than your father ever was." With that, she bent slowly to place a lasting kiss upon his head. More cold imposing upon warm.

And then the sensation was gone. Ivar watched his mother walk back away in the direction she had come, but before long, her visage began to fade. It was only then that Ivar was able to collect himself and set furiously after her.

"Mother?" he called out, and shouted it again when she wouldn't listen, more desperately this time.

But she was gone. She had faded softly into the wind like the withering timbre of a wild dog's howl.

He knew what it meant. His heart knew it before his mind did, and it felt like the Gods themselves had run him through.

His cheeks were wet and his head began to spin. He clawed at his hair and the grass below him. He could not _breathe_ for the anger that coursed through his veins.

Ivar drew in the deepest breath he could muster, threw his head back, and screamed all the evils in the world at the terrible night.

* * *

I whirled around to see what the cruel Norns had woven into my story now. Now, when I was beaten and had no real means of protection.

It was a tall man, light in complexion and even lighter eyes than that. His dirty blonde hair was matted with blood that still glistened even in the rapidly darkening sky. I could see that his face carried a look of malice—it was all pointy features and wide-open eyes.

I looked down to see more bits of dark red here and there along his body. There were far too many to count. His crazed expression and eerie calm were signs of the blood loss.

His body knew that he was dying; he did not.

"I said, 'where are you off to?'" he repeated himself, his tone becoming impatient.

Garmsen growled lowly at my side. He made ready to strike.

I had not seen this type of injury very often before, but I knew its natural progression. A man would bleed profusely and he would act like everything was alright. Like everything was better than alright. Like he hadn't a care in the world. But it was really his body doing its best to stay alive. It was only a matter of moments until his heart would give out, able to spur him on no longer.

He spoke English, which meant he was one of our own from Wessex. I would have been lost if this foreign man spoke the throaty, rolling sounds of the Welsh language.

I took a few steps backwards, and Garmsen followed suit shortly thereafter. I had to keep him far enough away if I was going to wait this out.

"ANSWER ME, HEATHEN!" he bellowed. The man brandished a sword that I hadn't realized was there, and Garmsen snapped ferociously. I placed a steady hand on the back of his neck to ease his loyal aggression. This man would be dead soon, and I didn't want my fylgur to injure himself in vain. Garmsen calmed substantially at the touch.

The Englishman took several steps forward, and I made sure to mirror him in an effort to keep the distance between us substantial. I could see his movements becoming more jarred and uncontrolled. His breathing increased tenfold and he could barely manage a few ragged gasps. He was fading now. Only a bit longer.

With one final step, the life left him altogether, and he collapsed in a heap on the ground.

He might not have attacked me, but my interaction with the dying man had taught me one thing: everyone was my enemy now. I would not find a friend amongst the people of Wessex, Wales, or Kattegat. I was completely on my own.

Garmsen pawed at the ends of my sullied dress, begging my attention.

"Yes, of course. I'll always have you," I bent down to stroke his fur, working out the nervousness through my hands. He accepted it willingly.

* * *

What was originally a hurried, frenzied pace at the outset of our flight became a desperate trudge through the English countryside. I did my best to follow the path of the fleeing Wessex army, and luckily Máni's bright rays illuminated the land just as well during the nighttime as Sòl did during her daytime travels. I sent up many a prayer of thanks for their jubilant shows, for surely they were the only things granting me safe and steady passage.

The only food in abundance were the dandelions that grew in practically every field I crossed. They weren't the best tasting option, but they provided enough energy to carry on with the journey. I left Garmsen to fend for himself most times—I was too intent on walking until dark every day. And even then, I sometimes pushed on longer. I did not want to wander in this strange place anymore. I had grown used to the castle at Wessex, but that did not familiarize me with the rest of England. Map study could only take one so far, and I was learning that now.

Days went by in a time that felt like months to me. With my familiar for company, I never felt truly alone, but it was still different than having another human around to talk to. I would even prefer Ivar's murderous presence to this solitude!

The air had begun to grow chilly at night. No matter how closely I huddled to Garmsen, I could not keep the shivers away. The nights were spent horridly with whatever little sleep I could steal. I must've truly enraged Niorun, Goddess of dreams, if she would not grant me any small reprieve from this waking nightmare.

I knew my trek was nearing its end when I saw columns of smoke rising faraway over the horizon. I had carried on in a southwest direction the entire time. If my memory served me right, I had traveled toward the place where the giant island cleaved in two. The northern spur was home to the treacherous kingdom of Wales, but to the south lay part of the kingdom of Wessex. Assuming Æthelwulf wanted to regroup, collect more fighters, and forge the next part of his plan, then that would mean he would settle back into the castle from which his army had started.

I was almost back to the castle at Wessex.

It was odd, though.

When I looked at the ground for signs as to which way the troops had marched, their footprints seemed to split into two separate bodies of fighters. The larger one headed due south toward the castle, and that was where I could see the far off fires burning in the distance. But a smaller one—a group composed of about ten or so on foot, headed due west. All that was to the west was the end of Wessex, and beyond that, the southern portion of the kingdom of Wales. What was Æthelwulf playing at?

I arrived at the castle less than a day later, my feet covered in blisters and my belly demanding solid food. As soon as I could, I would have whatever lavish meal the cooks were making for the royal family. Preferably meat, no greens. I had eaten enough plants to last me a lifetime in the past week.

Troops ran amuck on the grounds while the servants indoors acted equally frenetic in kind. No one could make sense of anything that was going on, resulting in pure, unadulterated _panic_. I had to find a familiar face and soon. I shuddered to think of what would happen if these troops harbored the same sentiments toward my North Men blood as did the dying man at Repton. Judging by the looks on their faces before our forces were betrayed and overrun by the Welsh, they already did. I needed to find Alfred.

I was running on blind instinct as I made my way into the castle and into the King's study just past the throne room. When I entered, the scene that greeted me was one of strangeness and unfamiliarity.

Alfred leaned heavily over the table with the map, hands splayed out over various portions of the kingdoms of England. A circle of prominent warriors weaved its way around him, their attention fixed on his low words and clipped gestures. Where was King Egbert? Prince Æthelwulf?

I wasn't able to see much more as a screaming Princess Judith ran at me, her arms and hands aflutter.

"Get this heathen woman out! _Out!"_

I hadn't expected this form of welcome. I could only watch dumbfoundedly as several lumbering men at the table made ready to draw swords.

What in the Nine Realms?

"Stay your blades," Alfred commanded wearily from his post.

My eyes widened at his disaffection. That and the power with which he commanded these men. He wore no crown but it seemed like he was the one in charge. Where were his father and grandfather?

The prince looked at me for the briefest of moments in appraisal and then waved his hand absently toward the sentries at the door.

"Escort the Lady Helena to her room and have a lady tend to her needs."

I wanted to call out to him and press him for information, but something in me chose not to. My gut told me that speaking out of turn in front of these warriors and the boy's crazed mother would not end well for me. I was restrained on either side and toted to my quarters like a wayward child.

He didn't _care_. He simply didn't care that I'd trekked halfway across his ruddy kingdom. He had seen that I was alive and not presently bleeding and simply waved me off!

' _What in all of Helheim has gone on here?'_

I didn't know, but I would find out soon enough.

* * *

The Queen Mother was dead, and Signe had never felt more _alive_.

The King was absent and probably dead himself considering he had left everything in pursuit of some place called the Mediterranean. A place that many travelers had described as being full of hot sands and hotter tempers. She hoped he had met a slow, agonizing end. Perhaps a snake bite.

Now was their time. Ubbe had to act or there would be no point in any of it.

She had confronted him that night after Aslaug collapsed in the great hall.

"Your mother is dead, husband," she whispered.

"As if I do not already know that, wife," he gritted out. She would not be deterred.

"Your brother—the King—is gone."

"What is your point, woman?" he spoke gruffly. The day had severely trampled on her poor husband's nerves. He had never been a very strong man to begin with, not like Ivar.

"There exists a hole in the hearts of the people," she spoke lowly in his ear, "They will only remain in line for so long without a present ruler on the throne." Signe moved her hands up to rub his shoulders languidly. Ubbe halted his movements and turned to look her squarely in the face.

"And just _what_ are you insinuating?" he questioned hotly, "That we take Kattegat right from the hands of my own brother?"

She had to be careful now. Silence was her best option, and she gave no sign that she agreed nor disagreed. She just continued her attentions at his back and shoulders, planting trailing kisses every so often.

"This is not our way," he murmured to himself.

The wheels in Ubbe's mind were turning. He might be adverse to the idea now, but a seed of an idea was more than enough to birth glory.

She would be queen.

* * *

 **A/N:** **To Shantigal, gameofboners, and guest: thank you so much for your reviews! gameofboners, I totally understand where you're coming from about Alfred because he sort of rubbed me that way at first in the show. Over time though I think I began to appreciate small character details which I then focused on and exaggerated for this story. Thank you for your high praise! :)**

 **Songs for this chapter are brooding, yet casual songs of a bygone era:**

 **The Smiths - Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now**

 **The Smiths - This Night Has Opened My Eyes**

 **The Cure - A Forest**

 **Talking Heads - Psycho Killer**

 **Talking Heads - This Must Be The Place**

 **Enjoy, and leave feedback! PLEASEOHPLEASEOHPLEASE.**


	24. The Littlest Saint

Ubbe's nerves were on their last leg. He didn't know how much more of Signe's prattling on about becoming King he could take.

His brother had vowed a solemn oath to rule the people of Kattegat and protect them from any danger that might come their way. And as Ubbe knew all too well, a man's word was his law. It was the Viking way.

' _If he has taken the oath, then where is he?'_ Ubbe wrestled internally.

Björn was off scouting out distant lands in his beloved Mediterranean. He was finding new places to raid so that the North Men would not have to waste their days fighting the ever-learning, ever-evolving English enemy. They had only been able to take them unawares so many times before they had caught on.

' _He is finding his own glory; he cares not for his people,'_ Signe's voice reverberated in his mind now.

Damn that woman and her ambition. Ubbe had never really been one for intense introspection, but Signe's relentless coaxing had driven him far into his own mind.

He cared about Kattegat and the fate of its people. Didn't he?

' _Of course you do. You're a good and noble man,'_ Signe's voice made itself known once more.

Snaking hands wound their way around his waist and her lips found his neck. Had those words actually been spoken aloud?

"In fact, I'd say you're downright _kingly_ ," she whispered, moving her mouth up to his ear.

Ubbe could feel his body responding to her ministrations. He would say that he hated it for how easily he succumbed to her advances, but that had been the reason he had married her in the first place anyway. Hadn't it?

Nothing was certain anymore. Signe was gaining a foothold in his heart and mind, and she knew it.

"Shouldn't we be concerned with finding justice for my mother first? Bring closure to the people?" Ubbe questioned.

True, her death had shaken him a bit, but his mother had been what she was: a selfish woman. He mourned the loss of her as a maternal figure in his life, but certainly not the way she had treated him. Neglectfully, absentmindedly, and sporadically doting.

Ivar had been the only one of them whom she ever properly fawned over. Ubbe did not resent her for it, but he did regret that they were not closer. Well, it was too late to fix it now.

"You know as well as I do who did this," Signe began. She looked at him expectantly, her soft hands pausing in their work. He missed the sensation.

"Lagertha," he concluded.

It only made sense. She had been bitter ever since his mother had seduced her husband while she and Ragnar were still married. Ubbe had heard stories of the slow-burning, seething anger the shieldmaiden had displayed during her dignified retreat to Hedeby. But that had been decades ago. What would cause her to retaliate after all this time had passed?

"I don't know," he murmured to himself, shaking his head. He sensed Signe's growing impatience with him, but he didn't care terribly much. Women were always given to such passions, and once they got an idea in their head, there was no dissuading them. Ubbe accepted Signe's nature as a matter of fact, but he would be lying if he said it wasn't starting to wear him down.

"Something must be done, Ubbe. Your brother could be back from his trek any day now, and when he does eventually return, you know as well as I do that no harm will befall Lagertha," she practically purred, "How will that make you look as a man? Your mother slain in cold blood and you sitting here with no recourse taken."

Her words echoed in his mind long after they were spoken, and Ubbe pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes to think. Gods, if only he could just think without his overbearing wife at his shoulder.

He felt her body soften and slowly engulf his.

"You are smart, Ubbe. Smarter than your brothers have ever given you credit for."

His blue eyes whipped to meet her amber ones, and he brought a hand up to toy mindlessly with a lock of her golden hair. He had certainly grown fond of her despite himself.

"Show them that you are truly Viking," she finished, her lips poised over his.

Ubbe didn't answer right away, but instead gazed steadily into her eyes.

He placed a rough hand behind her neck and pressed her mouth harshly against his.

Words didn't suit him right now. A good fucking did.

* * *

Early evening had fallen over the kingdom of Wessex, and a few bright stars were peeping out through the shaded veil of the sky.

My stomach growled adamantly. Though the Prince had asked for a lady to attend to my needs, no such courtesy was given. I had been kept in my chambers for hours now with no contact, no answers, and certainly no food. A guard was posted at my door; I could hear his heavy armor when he moved every now and again.

I hadn't tried to escape yet. Mostly because of a misplaced notion that I would be offered some sort of explanation for what had taken place in the King's study. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the countryside in an array of blues and purples, I was becoming convinced otherwise.

Was I awaiting my own death? Would the guards march in any moment and drag me outside for a public execution to boost the troops' morale?

' _What am I sitting here for?'_

With every passing moment it had become abundantly clear that Alfred wasn't coming. He had abandoned me. For what reason I could not say, but I felt it. He had forfeited our friendship in the pursuit of his united England.

But why so suddenly?

Granted the loss against the treacherous Welsh had certainly left the army of Wessex rattled. And yet, I expected more from the Prince.

Speaking of which, where was the Crown Prince? And King Egbert for that matter?

Æthelwulf was probably still reeling from Æthelred's death, but it was his place as head of the army to help plan its next move. We were down but not out.

Fine.

If no one would give me answers, I would find them out myself.

Now that I had devoted her full attention to the task, escaping my room was far easier than it should have been. The single guard at my door had grown weary based on his lack of movement. I pressed my ear against the opening where the door met its frame and listened.

A few moments passed and then I heard it: a long period of silence followed by a heavy, nasal outbreath. He was asleep.

No doubt he was one of the many soldiers who were still exhausted from their hasty retreat.

Taking far more care than was needed, I slipped the latch from its cradle and gently released it once the door was slightly open. The heavy door was far louder than I hoped for in its movement, and the guard stirred but did not wake. I let out an uneasy breath.

Once I had removed myself from the chamber, I repeated the tedious process in order to close the door. If the guard woke up in the middle of the night, I didn't want him to have any signs that I'd left. With any luck, he wouldn't know I wasn't there until the following morning. I'd be long gone by then.

But first, I had to gather a few tools.

* * *

Night now fully cloaked the castle, and the torches had been lit throughout the halls where needed to provide guiding light. I moved amongst the dark places where they could not reach and thanked the Gods for my luck so far.

Down a set of stairs, past a couple of doors, and down another flight. I was in front of Bald's workroom in a few short moments. I felt no need to rush once I had secured the entrance behind me as palace guards rarely patrolled this area to begin with. Now that everyone was preparing for another attack from the Welsh, I doubted they checked here at all.

I hadn't been down here in some weeks, but now that I was within a familiar element, knowledge of its contents came rushing back. The deadlier collections weren't kept out for just anyone's greedy hands to find; Bald made sure they were meticulously stored in a hidden place.

He hadn't known that I had a keener eye than most and knew where to look without him even touching it. His eyes moved far too quickly and his voice weakened just enough whenever I moved near the cabinet when I first began working with him. He didn't trust me, and he was right not to. It took only an evening's perusal through the cabinet's contents before I knew what lay hidden within.

Inside one of the two tall wooden cabinets that lined the walls on either side of the door, Bald stored his collection of rolled manuscripts and a single bound book. It was the Bible, of course. The only book these Christians went through the pains of copying and illuminating because in their mind, it was the only book worth reading.

I was far more interested in the rolled parchment. Third row down, fourth scroll from the left. I had to admit that Bald had been rather smart to hide the fatal substances here in his literature. Who would bother to look for something important amongst endless scrolls documenting farmers' crop yields and recipes to ease the symptoms of sweating sickness?

I tapped a knowing finger on the edge of the spiral and grasped it with tentative fingers to pull it out.

"What brings you here at this hour, Lady Helena?" I whirled around to come face to face with none other than the Prince Alfred, my hands clasped firmly at my back. I did not miss the artificial title he used—a buttress between us. His eyes searched me wearily without a speck of trust to speak of, "And so far removed from the chambers to which I had you escorted?"

He was so different, so changed. He positively _despised_ me. I sensed it rolling off of him.

"And why did you have me escorted to my chambers in the first place, Prince?" I asked, responding to his formality in kind. His face hardened before he spoke again.

"Circumstances have changed in your absence. I am no longer Prince," he replied, devoid of emotion.

He was no longer Prince? Short of Prince Æthelwulf disowning him, that could only mean one thing.

Alfred was King.

' _But how?'_

Without a moment's hesitation, I fell to one knee and bent my head low.

I might have found decorum tedious, but Alfred was born and raised in it. He would respect it more than any of my reasoning.

I knelt for a long time in a heavy silence that was almost too much to bear. Neither of us spoke.

After a small eternity, I peered upward to see what expression awaited me.

He looked down on me from beneath arched brow, his face one of discerning solemnity. His robes were significantly richer in appearance, and his hands were folded in trained repose. How could I not have seen it before when I first entered the castle?

Though he still held the air of someone who was becoming accustomed to his new station, it suited him well. His bewilderment was hidden so securely beneath his regal exterior, even I had trouble discerning it.

I could bare his silence no longer.

"My King?"

"I am not your King!" he shouted in a rush. His quiet skepticism had morphed into barely-controlled anger. I watched his fists clench and unclench several times while waiting for him to speak.

"I don't know how you did it, and frankly, I don't care," he seethed, "All I know is that my forces have been _halved_ , and I am somehow still expected to repel a Heathen Horde from my doorstep."

"How dare you?" I whispered, looking back down at the ground.

The weight of his accusation fell heavily into the pit of my stomach. I collected myself rapidly and stood to meet his withering gaze, anger setting my blood on fire.

"How fucking _dare_ you?" I spat between my teeth.

Alfred watched me silently, taken aback by my outburst. Good.

"I have been nothing but a help to you and your family, and you stand there with your new crown on your head, and you dare accuse me—"

"You will show proper respect when addressing me," he cut me off in a monotone command. My eyes widened in realization. This was much worse than anger; this was apathy.

"A help?" he questioned rhetorically. I nodded vigorously, but that only caused him to smile and cock his head to the side in derision, "No. You have been a burden."

He stole the breath from my throat. I placed a shaking hand at my mouth to stop the horror from showing. How could he believe such nonsense?

"You took advantage of my grandfather's welcoming and unsuspecting attitude toward the weaker sex. You convinced him to contact the numerous kingdoms of Wales, beseeching their aid. You intentionally had him stand before the people of Wales and shout that Wessex was weak. Weak and ripe for the taking," he explained. Cold and calculating. Methodical.

It was the most discomposed I had ever seen him, but that did nothing to assuage my fury. I stood square with him, my eyes searching his, and my nostrils flaring.

"How could you think so lowly of me? After all we've shared and done, please Alfred," I pleaded. His hands shot out to grab hold of my shoulders and squeezed painfully, drawing me close.

"If you refuse to refer to me by my proper title one more time, Hel, I will have you tied to a post in the town center for the Soldiers to have their way with," he spoke in a low growl.

He was so unlike himself, I barely recognized him. Where was the gentle, calm Alfred from before? Had one defeat changed him so?

' _When he thinks I'm the one who precipitated that defeat, yes.'_

"Your Majesty," I started with a sigh, "I know you think the worst of me, but I assure you with everything that is in me that I have not done a single thing to cause that travesty of a battle with the Welsh. I had _nothing_ to do with it."

Disbelief was the only thing I could see in his eyes. I was fighting a losing battle, which only served to incense me more. If he continued with his threats, I would bring him down to my level and show him how true heathens behaved.

"You used lust to convince me that trusting you was in mine and the kingdom's best interests," he might've been angry, but I caught the tone of the lament in his words.

"But I _was_ acting in your best interests!" I moved my hands up and placed them on either side of his face, "Whatever happened as a result of that was not my doing."

All at once, Alfred released me and moved closer to the open door. Before he exited he turned his head once more, a look of disgust on his face.

"The proclivity for lust and sin can draw one away from God and bring him to ruin. I will not have you ruin my kingdom," he looked away as he spoke, but snapped his eyes back to mine once more, "You will be gone on the morrow. I don't care where you go or what you do, but you should consider yourself miraculously fortunate that I am not having you executed for all of Wessex to see. Heaven knows the people would rejoice," he finished in a whisper.

I desperately believed that he was acting in what he thought were his best interests—his own and his people's.

"Would you?" I asked meekly. I couldn't help it. No matter how gravely he spoke, I still felt tied to him in a bond that words could not break.

He turned fully to me at that, all semblance of misgiving gone. He felt that bond too, I knew it. And his poor behavior could not sever it. I would ensure he knew that.

A moment of easy silence passed between us, and that old connection was back as if it had never left.

All too soon, the young King steeled himself.

"Leave, Hel," he warned and turned to make a sweeping exit.

Alfred was a principled man. He refused to align himself with anything or anyone he couldn't put his faith in. And I, a heathen North Woman, had given him every reason to distrust me. He wanted me gone because of it.

I was absolutely confounded. Never before had anyone ever shown me that approaching a situation with lust was wrong. And he saw it as abominably wrong.

I had no one to turn to for comfort. Siggy's spirit was not welcome here and as far as the North Men were concerned, I was dead. Ivar thought me a traitor, and now so did Alfred. I was losing myself in this never-ending pursuit of glory.

I had come this far, and so I could not retreat so easily.

Gods above, I would not bow down in fear.

I looked down at my hands, eyes alight in searching for a solution. When my thoughts provided me no answers, I glanced up to take in my surroundings.

For some reason, my gaze settled on the ornately bound Bible, and my eyebrows furrowed in thought.

I knew I was supposed to be looking at it because it just felt right, but I could not figure out why.

" _The Boy King has no faith in you,"_ an otherworldly whisper on the wind made its way into my ear. I gasped at the unexpected intrusion. It was not Siggy, but something much older. Much more powerful.

"And so I must _put_ his faith in me," I responded.

I had been putting on airs since I was young, and England had been more of the same. This, however, would be my grandest spectacle yet.

I pulled the ancient tome off of its shelf and sat down on the floor to begin reading. Before I started, I prayed to Loki, the Trickster God for all the cunning he saw fit to bestow upon me. I would need it if I was going to survive the morning.

"Amen," I finished wryly with a glance at the heavens.

* * *

They found me the next morning back in my chambers, a woven rope rosary around my neck, and stooped in prayer to the Almighty, Everlasting God.

The moment that guards caught sight of what I was doing, they sent word to the King. The heathen girl was praying to God. Of all the things!

Not long after King Alfred, the Queen Mother, and the aged King Egbert appeared in the doorway to see for themselves. Their looks possessed varying degrees of disbelief, but Judith's had an added measure of contempt.

I could not reveal my surprise that Egbert was still alive and yet his grandson (however loosely the term was applied) now sat on his throne. The once-King was the first to speak.

"Child," he began, voice soft, "Whatever are you doing?"

I had one chance to make this count. No poor shows of mild repentance would do. I needed this to be real—for myself as much as them. I thought of all the things I had done in an effort to get me where I was in life and everything it had cost me. I thought of how far I had come and how close I was to losing it all. I thought of Ivar, Aslaug, Siggy, Floki, Ragnar— _everyone._ I thought of my Godess in Helheim and prayed for her strength.

I raised my eyes that were now brimming with tears, keeping my hands clasped in prayer—the perfect picture of a little saint.

"I wish to be baptized."


	25. Three Kings

**A/N: Hi ya'll! I'm not making excuses, but some things have gone on that prevented me from writing. It's getting better now, and I'm back on schedule. Please pardon the delay, and stick with me! :)**

* * *

The ceremony was done in a cool, swiftly-running stream that wound its way through the thick forest. Small, luminescent bits of dust floated gently in the sunlight that managed to pierce the canopy's veil. Sól's flames burned a bit less fiercely of late as Skaði's wintry influence began to take hold. Still, a few persistent buzzing pests skimmed the tops of the long grass, lazy in the heavy haze of summer's end. Birds nestled on tree limbs crooned love songs to one another.

I pretended they were singing to me, easing me on the venerated path to my fate.

I might not have had any choice on the matter of where it was done, but I was certainly glad the aged and crooked clergyman had chosen here.

Standing at the water's edge, I turned to look behind me on the dirt path a few steps away to see the crowd that had gathered there. A crowd of English nobles eager to see the heathen woman converted into something more palatable. Something more like them. I couldn't help but smirk slightly. They believed me.

Good.

Archishop Bede plopped indelicately into the gasping cold water, doing everything in his power to keep himself as dry as possible despite his present undertaking. He was a loud, loquacious character who had shown himself sturdy in the Word and unsteady in the world. He feared the flesh most (I could see that) because it so obviously ruled him.

He was a lecher. I noticed how his eyes lingered a bit too long on the plunging necklines of the females in the King's retinue. No doubt he would soon be enraptured by the spectacle I presented in a transparent dress once the water had soaked through.

I had chosen a more modest dress for the sacrificial rite of this baptism. A perfectly neat and simple dress in off white. It was really more of a shift meant for under wear, but exceptions to propriety had to be made when Jesus was involved.

The young King stood front and center, the rest of his family flanking him on either side. The smile slipped from my face the moment my eyes met his. He was not in a gaming mood. His hard eyes watched me like a hawk, waiting to catch any sign of hesitation or slip in character. This was life and death for him, so important was it that one's soul be saved by the Almighty God.

Little did he know that he would get no protest from me. I had made peace with my Gods-they knew where my heart truly lay.

I cleared my throat and turned back to face the holy man. He swept his arm outward, open hand gesturing to the water in a sign that I should enter it. His face looked entirely serene, as if baptizing a North Woman was something that occurred every other day. It was a learned behavior; I could see the repulsion behind his eyes. He didn't want me to be part of his faith almost as much as I didn't want to join it.

I plodded into the water unceremoniously causing the crowd's loudness to dull. I was going to become a Christian, and I was going to get it over with now, God damn it.

The dress billowed around me like an upside down flower suspended in midair. The gasping cold water soon became pleasantly cool around m legs. I could feel the bishop's eyes affixing themselves to my newly exposed form as I moved to stand next to him in the middle of the running creek.

I smiled sweetly at the man to keep the disgust from making itself known on my face. He paused with an unctuous smile for a moment before setting smoothly into action.

"O Lord, Heavenly Father, Almighty and Eternal God. Expel the Devil and his Kin from this person. From the head, from the hair, from the brain..." He carried on listing an inordinate amount of body parts, and I felt my attention straying.

The ritual of baptism was one that left all the work to the officiator and none to the individual. It was all pomp and redundancy of ritual, ensuring that words sealed the Holy Spirit over every single part of one's flesh. There was no room for inspiration here like there was with the North Gods.

The bishop begged his God for mercy as if he was some lofty judge. We knew our Gods intimately. They whispered blessings in our ear. How anyone could profess to follow a God that seemed so far away was foreign to me.

I chanced a glance at Alfred and was pleased to see him watching me severely. Intently and with conviction. His eyes held fast to mine as he mumbled something I couldn't quite hear. Then again, it looked like everyone else in the crowd was mumbling as well.

It was then that I noticed the bishop watching me expectantly.

"Amen," I mumbled, hoping I had said the right thing. The man's smug smile resurfaced, and I knew I had done right. He reached a lazy hand back to the vicar behind him who was holding a golden chalice aloft in reverence.

"I anoint thee in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen," he spoke. With each title, he dabbed a point on my body meant to represent the cross of the savior. I thought his fingers lingered a bit too long over my heart, but I remained unaffected.

I closed my eyes to feign deference, but instead thanked the Gods that a holy man like Æthelstan ever came into my life. Without him and his teachings, I would have never made it this far, let alone be able to do whatever it took to win back his son's trust.

"Dear child, do you reject sin so as to live in the favor of God's children?" the bishop's eyes held such severity, I might've taken him seriously.

"I do," I replied, feeling a bit winded. What was this strange sensation?

I could only describe it like the buzzing of a bee, except it sounded like it was rising in loudness.

"Do you reject the glamor of evil and refuse to be enamored with sin?" came the next question.

Rising, rising. My breathing rose with it.

"I do," I managed to say.

Louder, louder. The ends of my vision darkened and I felt a heaviness settle in my limbs.

"Do you reject Satan, father of sin and prince of darkness?"

I could barely see but for a pinpoint of clear sight in the center of my eyes, and the buzzing was so loud I wanted to scream.

But for some reason I knew. I knew to look over at him. At Alfred.

He was afflicted by something too. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw was set in tense pain. He returned my gaze almost bewilderedly. Looking at him dead in the eye, I made my vow.

"I do."

The world turned black and I felt my body being encased in a sweet, icy embrace. I lay for a moment, wondering if death could really be so soothing.

With a start, I was spluttering and thrashing my limbs as I fought out of the cold creek's waters for a breath of desperately needed air. The bishop's concluding words range in my ears while his hands drew me close for an obligatory embrace.

"I now pronounce you baptized and born again, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."

I could do nothing to keep myself from shaking as I breathed a whisper in response.

"Amen."

* * *

Björn watched the spindly pillars of smoke climb lazily up from the numerous huts comprising the village. Kattegat had somehow grown even more than its already sprawling size in his absence. Not much, but just enough to feel a shift in the skies. Valhalla, he had heard the bustle of its people from a good ways off.

Kattegat had grown indeed. He would make sure to be the enterprising King it needed. He could already see all of the raids they would execute. Their people would never want for riches or food again.

Björn's party (really himself, Halfdan, and Sinric on horseback) stood poised on the grass-covered mountainside overlooking the center of the town. Their journey home had been long, arduous, and downright gnarly at times. They could enjoy a few moments respite to simply sit back and take it all in.

The young King breathed a quiet prayer to the All Father for their safe passage. He did not need a grand reception or ostentatious fanfare. No, all he needed was the open, pine-filled air over his beloved Kattegat to welcome him home.

Björn readied his horse to begin a slow descent into its heart. Soon he would be back on his throne. Soon he would be able to see what remained of his family. And soon he could begin making his plans to expand the borders of Kattegat beyond what his father could ever have imagined. He would bring them to the Mediterranean and farther, Gods willing.

But first, a large cup of heated mead was in order.

* * *

Ubbe felt like a fool.

After days of Signe's incessant plying, he had caved. Figuring his half-brother was dead, he had claimed the throne in his stead.

Signe had been right in one regard: Kattegat was not a lame deer that would sit and wait without aim. She was a living, breathing being that needed guidance. She needed leadership. _His_ leadership.

Or so Signe had told him.

All Ubbe could focus on while he sat atop the fur-covered throne of the great hall was how ridiculous he must look assuming his brother was dead and that Kattegat was his for the taking. Somewhere in the hollows of his bones he knew Björn was not dead. For if he really was, it would be too short and too unaccomplished a life. And surely the Gods had not brought any of the Ragnarsons into this world for the purposes of meeting simple ends. They were meant to conquer worlds, meet foreign peoples, and-at the very least-rule their people well.

Ubbe knew that Björn was meant for far greater things than merely ruling Kattegat. So then why did he feel so wrong sitting in his place?

'Because you are no better than a dog begging for scraps,' he thought bitterly.

This was wrong, all wrong.

He looked at Signe, all the glow of royalty about her. She could not see how wrong it all was, could she?

Of course she couldn't!

She had wanted this from the start; this end had been her plan from the very beginning.

Had it even been Lagertha who had poisoned his mother?

The Queen Mother had been the only one keeping his brother's throne safe. But with her out of the picture, there were no obstacles in the way of the unguarded throne. It had all happened too perfectly, too easily to be anything else but masterful scheming.

Disgust gripped his throat and turned his stomach. Ubbe might not have been the keenest of the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, but he should have seen such blatant treachery under his roof. And against his own blood!

What a fool he had been-how was he ever going to make it right in the eyes of his family, let alone the Gods?

He would play the fool no longer.

Jumping to his feet, Ubbe moved as quickly as his strong legs could carry him away from the cursed throne. Signe's reaction was swift and violent.

"Where do you think you're going, _King_?"

He did not spare her a glance, but cocked his head over his shoulder to reply.

"I am not your King, _woman_."

His heavy footfalls brought him to the large, wooden doors at the entrance of the hall. He placed both hands on them, feeling the hardness of the splintering grain underneath his fingers. Somehow it comforted him.

But before he could ease the huge facets open, Ubbe was flung backwards by a mighty force.

His head and back ached from the fall, and he looked up quickly in frustration.

There, standing in the doorway and wearing clothes that were far too thin to be considered practical was Björn. The King himself, alive and well and back from his long journey.

Ubbe knew he should not feel surprised, but he did anyway.

Björn paused in his entry to look between Signe atop the Queen's throne and Ubbe sprawled on the floor. His eyes narrowed but a contrasting smirk stole his features.

"Have I missed something in my time away, brother?"

* * *

Ivar's breaths exited his mouth in rumbling, continuous tremors. His anger was suffocating him from the inside out. He hadn't seen anything but the color red since he had encountered his mother's spirit on its way to the hereafter.

Where had she gone?

 _Why_ had she gone?

Someone was to blame. Ivar might not understand how right now, but he would soon enough. He just had to get back to Kattegat to begin his inquisition.

But he would not embroil himself in affairs at home until he was absolutely sure that he had a stable stronghold in these foreign English lands. Something tangible from which he could draw power and resources.

Ivar wanted to return home with no room for question as to who would be ruling his father's kingdom. It had never been Björn's. Kattegat wasn't cultivated for hm. Ivar knew it was his father's gift to him as the youngest son-he was the only one who was meant to claim it after the Absent King's death.

But no, his brother had acted as he always did: pompously, spitefully, and stupidly. He had assumed that as the oldest of the Ragnarsons, it was entitled to him.

'What a load of horse shit.'

If anything, they should know better than anyone that something worth having was not simply given. Their father had elevated himself from the life of an insignificant farmer to the ruler of the most abundantly thriving trade center of the northern lands. He had fought, climbed, and bled to change his fate.

And Björn thought his own position as King was given!

How naive.

Ivar would ruin these Christians first. He would ruin every last one. Including _her_ when he found her. For she was just as good as them now-she wasn't worth the scum on his heel.

And when he returned to Kattegat, he would take what he wanted the same way his father had.

For his mother's sake.

Ivar's breathing had slowed somewhat in his musing. Examining things and rationalizing them had always brought him peace.

His determined gaze swept the rolling hills, soft and resplendent with oaks and elms. According to his map, he was on the southern border of Mercia meaning that Wessex was directly to his front. A two day's ride and they would be upon the King's fortress.

Two days until he could decimate the remainder of those who opposed him in this Godsforsaken place. Two days until he could call himself a conqueror of worlds. Two measly days and he could sail home to name himself the true King of Kattegat and bring justice to his mother's death.

"Ivar the Conqueror," he voiced with a chuckle, tasting the way the words rolled off of his tongue.

He quite liked the sound of that.

* * *

I twirled the ruby-encrusted brooch in my fingers, surveying its every intricacy. It was a gift from the King (or should I say the now abdicated King).

He treated me like a would-be daughter, kept apart by the cruel odds of birthplace and blood. His sentiments were certainly heartwarming but misplaced. As kind as Egbert was, I did not know if I could ever align myself with his people. They had treated me so cruelly once the tides at York had turned. The look in my eyes and my origin had been enough for them to treat me like vermin.

Before the ceremony had ended, I had held Alfred's gaze as soon as I regained myself. But whereas earlier I saw conviction, now I saw nothing. I couldn't fathom what he was thinking.

He was gone before I could exit the water with a spin of his rich maroon robes, and his retinue soon followed. The spiked crown atop his head glinted in the dying sun, temporarily blinding me.

Egbert headed me off at the water's edge to offer his gift. I could do naught but watch the young monarch's retreating form, paralyzed and dripping wet. My golden-brown sopping locks clung to the sides of my face. A hearty indifference threatened petulantly to steal my heart, and I had half a mind to let it.

Would nothing please the boy?

Moments tricked slowly as the crowd disappeared in greater numbers. The attendance of the King at this heathen's ceremony was barely a reason for them to attend. His departure was an obvious reason to go.

Now that I was baptized, they had ever more reason to regard me harshly. Prior to this, I had simply been the heathen girl playing at being English. In their eyes, though, I was now a Christian. I had told them that I could keep pace with them and their God. Their outward behavior would now be more benign, but the harshness behind their smiles would increase a thousand times over.

I had no energy to care. According to their holy bishop I was now a child of the Most High and that meant I had succeeded in this undertaking.

The boy King had given nothing away when he left? No sign of approval or pleasure at my holy rite?

If he would not admit his innermost thoughts, then I would draw them out of him. One by bloody one.

My position in Wessex before the battle with Wales had been tenuous at best. Now, I couldn't even say, but I knew it wasn't good.

I needed to hear it from Alfred's mouth-any hint or confirmation that my longevity in his court was on option still on the table (if ever it was).

If not, everything would be lost to me. And then I would be forced to do what I had always done in times of crisis: rebuild. Find new, fertile soil in which to sow the seeds of my learned chaos. Seeds of my great and noble undertaking.

If that turned out to be true, if nothing but misfortune and tempests awaited me on the morrow, I knew one thing was clear. Nothing would make my scheming, boisterous heart happier.

All of this chasing after the motives of mortals was becoming more and more exhausting with every moment I chose to lift its burden onto my shoulders. I preferred my Garmsen and my Gods-mostly silent and yet mostly revelatory in their silence. These English were grating on my nerves in a way the North Men never had.

Exiting the water abruptly, I left the bishop stuttering and standing flabbergasted behind me.

The time for blessings was over.

I needed to speak with the King.

* * *

I strode irreverently through the halls of the castle, sparing no one a glance. I could hear the stunned guffaws of the courtiers as I came marching through various chambers clad only in a damp shift. What matter was it to them what I wore anymore? I had come for their King, not them.

He was not in the throne room, the halls, or his office, and so I soon found myself descending the stairs to the familiar passageway of the dimly lit, dank basement.

I stepped cautiously up to the doorway of the heated baths, every inch of me knowing that he was on the other side. Steeling myself, I gripped the heavy metal handle and heaved.

He was sitting exactly where I pictured him: hair loose and falling about his shoulders, back set against the edge opposite the door, and arms draped heavily on the walls to either side of him. His head whipped up to discern who would dare come barging into his baths without his permission.

Upon seeing me, his face took on a resigned air and he waved dismissively to the servants present.

"You may leave us."

Moments passed before we were alone. The door sealed with a heavy _clang_.

Finally.

"What are you doing here, Lady Helena?" His words were distant, his voice more so.

I didn't miss a beat.

"I am here to make confession."


	26. Confession

"I have come to make confession."

His brows furrowed and he cocked his head, taken aback. This was probably the last thing he had expected me to say after all that had transpired.

I wouldn't allow him to look away and kept my gaze level with his. His expression soon turned to one of intrigue and amusement. It was as if whatever we had shared in the past had simply been shut away. I wasn't dealing with my friend Alfred; I was talking to a monarch who was in the mood for some entertainment.

Alfred shifted his position on the side of the bath, and it was then that I noticed he was fully naked. The water obscured most of his body except for the upper torso, but it was still a disconcerting thought. A proper Christian who couldn't bear to have sex with me was now completely bare in front of a woman and didn't care a wit.

Who was this man?

Composing myself, I awaited his decision.

A moment passed and neither of us moved.

"Well then," he drawled, "Confess."

A tingle shot up my spine, and I swore I heard a low buzzing my ears.

"I have tried confessing my sins to God in the solitude of my chambers before, but I have come up wanting for more," I began. It was no secret that one was expected to confess on their own during prayer time. It was what any good Christian would do.

But it was only a precursor to confession with a priest. Alfred would do.

"For more what?" he prompted.

"Absolution."

On my walk here, I was so filled with anger that I thought of all the ways I could hurt him. Curse at him and berate him for the loss at York. Poison his wine goblet so that he'd be near death for a month but never pass on. Kill those he loved and leave this place like a shadow on the wind.

But for all my plotting, I couldn't follow through. Despite my petulant nature, I wanted to carry on. I wanted to get to the bottom of this. I wanted real answers and hard truths before I decided to enact my will.

The only way I could even keep myself from being tossed out was to get baptized.

One sacramental rite done and over with.

But in order to get him to start speaking to me again, I would have to keep the faith alive with yet another rite: my penance.

"Why do you not take your burdens to a man of the cloth then?" his tone was still so teasing despite the severity of my approach.

He wanted to make it a game then? So be it.

"Are you not the spiritual leader of your kingdom, Your Majesty?"

He sighed heavily, "That I am."

I watched him as he made himself more comfortable, keeping my eyes from drifting too far downward. The buzzing was back, even lower this time but still a warning.

My last bits of pride had the courage to act indignantly.

"If you're quite done, Your Majesty, I'd like to begin."

His composure slid solidly into that of a steely-eyed man, hard beyond his years.

"You will do well to remember the unnecessary benevolence being shown to you, Lady Helena," he warned, "One's allegiance to God does not change his station in life."

I was taken aback for a few moments before I caught up to him, "And what exactly is my station at the present moment, Your Majesty?"

The anticipation of his response made me feel like I was drowning in a cesspool. His answer would indicate my survivability.

"As far as I'm concerned, you don't have one," he finished. No preface, no decoration. Cold, hard facts delivered at killing distance.

All of my explaining hadn't won him, nor my truth telling. Not even my bloody conversion to his single-minded religion had changed his heart. What more could be done?

Where had my cunning gone? What happened to the girl who knew what to do, how to speak, and where to go?

The problem was outside of my capabilities. Alfred's trust was beyond salvaging.

Or was it?

Frustration and anxiety pooled in the center of my stomach. The emotions I struggled every moment of every hour to suppress were released to run rampant. I needed them for the sake of appealing to my Gods.

'Please, sweet Goddess mine. Help me, or all is lost here,' I begged. Somehow even the voice in my mind managed to waver with thinly-veiled panic. Tears welled at the corner of my vision.

Alfred smirked, "So you think crying will win my favor?"

He was absolutely ruthless. Had someone told me a fortnight ago that the young man was capable of such behavior, I wouldn't have believed it. Every moment of the war was changing him, altering him into less and less of who he once was. Shifting him into a more callous, cold, and calculating person. Someone more hostile, bent on subjecting the world to his will.

Someone more like Ivar.

 _Goodness_.

He really was, wasn't he?

I was surprised I hadn't drawn he comparison sooner when it was so blatantly staring me in the face.

I laughed aloud, a short and clipped sound that reverberated off the stone walls of the bath.

Had he always been this way-a scheming, shrewd man who kept his true nature at bay for the sake of timing? Or had it just happened recently with his ascension to the throne?

Despite the stunned look on his face, Alfred's eyes still held their menace. A fixture that had been put in place long ago. How could I not have seen it? It was just so _obvious_ now.

Young King Alfred was an ambitious and power-hungry creature for all the worst reasons just like the rest of us. He pretended to want to unite England for patriotic and practical reasons when all he really wanted was ruddy power!

It was like his skull had been peeled back to reveal the workings within. His mind was laid bare in its entirety.

And if I knew the workings of a man's mind, I knew what to do with it.

'Thank you, Goddess.'

A ghostly whisper.

A deathly chill that cut through the bath's steam.

Hel herself was here.

'I am not through with him yet,' her voice was agitated.

Alfred's look of confusion was replaced with a cold exterior. He waited impatiently, betraying nothing.

'Remove your clothing,' the ethereal voice instructed, sounding fractured in a thousand pieces as it echoed inside my mind.

Though the divine guidance had come, it had not brought with it that compulsion that made difficult things easier to do.

'Show him how a North Woman behaves-even a baptized one,' she imparted, her derisive laughter echoing.

It made sense. He wanted power, and so I would put on a show of power for him. How wise my Goddess was.

Drawing myself up to stand straight, I reached backward to grab a fistful of the white material and tugged it over my head.

I heard a sharp intake of air from the young King and struggled to withhold the smugness that stole my heart and warmed my thighs.

"What do you think you're doing?" he breathed.

I stood before him naked. White skin contrasted with only the black Hel stone tied up in a cord around my neck. I had discarded the pearl cross and ruby brooch on the ground as the useless rubbish they were.

Judging by the King's expression, all of his power had been ceded to lap at my feet. I relished it.

"I believe I am confessing, Your Majesty. Do the Lord's people not present themselves before Him bruised, broken, and bare?"

I drew a hand down between my breasts in demonstration. Alfred wound his gaze up and down in perfect followership.

'Enter, child,' Hel's voice coached further, 'Let the stone's face touch the water.'

I obeyed immediately and stepped daintily into the pool, using each tantalizing footfall as another chance to draw Alfred's attention in.

What was going to happen when the Hel stone touched the pool's water? Faith would bring me the answer.

Slowly inching my way in, I kept my eyes fixed on Alfred.

The moment before the stone dipped in, I paused. I didn't know what held me there-whether it was Asgardian influence or my own personal weakness, I couldn't be sure.

But fully taking in the sight of him beneath the water, my body began to hum with bad intentions, causing me to plunge fully into the water.

The instant the stone was submerged, it began to ooze a red substance. My vision clouded underneath it, and I came up for air.

Once at the surface, I noticed my close proximity to the young monarch. My nose practically brushed his chest.

I was not afraid. This had, after all, been my Goddess's plan. And what a brilliant plan it was.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I darted out my tongue to taste the deep red liquid.

Wine.

It remained steaming as the water had, yet it tasted better to the tongue.

Alfred's focus on me strayed as he took in the miracle before him.

"What is this?" he asked. There wasn't so much fear in his words as wonder.

"The blood of our Savior; the blood of the Lord Jesus Christ," I answered.

I took advantage of his awe and moved slowly to drape myself over his limbs.

The way my legs spread over his felt natural. A primal flame burned in my belly as I petted his head, arms, and shoulders, desperate for his gaze to return to me.

He finally realized that his own investigation would provide him no more of an answer than I had already given him. His wide, questioning eyes turned to face me once more.

He equated me with the miracle. And that had been my aim all along.

I was the ultimate embodiment of power now, for I had the Messiah at my bidding. Or at least he thought.

"How?" he breathed, reaching his hands to press into either side of my face. His stare pierced me through and through, "How can this be?"

I thanked my Goddess for swaying him so captivatingly well. My own displays of allegiance were nothing in comparison to the workings of the Gods. Alfred thought his Lord was here and that it was my doing. Thank Hel, I had him snared.

I stroked the side of his neck and brought a thumb to swipe at his strong jaw.

Did I love this man?

No.

I doubted I was capable of such a sentiment anymore. But I knew I could be happy with him. At his side and in control.

Was that enough?

"I confess, Your Majesty, that I have lost myself in the Almighty Father."

A kiss at his neck.

"In His Righteous Son."

A kiss on his jaw.

"In His Holy Spirit."

A kiss on his cheek.

"And in you."

He grabbed the back of my head and pressed our mouths harshly together.

He came undone beneath me, any semblance of composure lost in the swirling red currents of the bath.


End file.
